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were eight dollars apiece, but he’d gladly take out a second mortgage if it meant saving him from Sara’s mouth. In every way.

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    41

    Chapter Four
    So this was what a hangover felt like.
    Sara groaned and turned over. Why did anyone do this more than once?
    Well, she’d wanted to experience being really, really drunk. She wouldn’t have done it if Mac hadn’t been there to be sure she was safe and got home without incident.
    He should have warned her about the jackhammer in her head. She tried to sit up. The heavy jackhammer in her head.
    She squinted at the clock. Eleven o’clock. She assumed in the morning because sunlight was streaming obnoxiously through her window, but she had no idea what time she’d come back to her condo, how she’d gotten there or…
    She quickly glanced down to see what she wore—the same thing from last night—then regretted the rapid movement of her head.
    “Ooohhh,” she moaned, pulling a pillow across her face and praying for more unconsciousness. In her unconsciousness she didn’t have a headache and Mac did all kinds of delicious things to her. Things she hadn’t even known about until getting brave enough to type sex positions into Google. From there it had been a veritable sexual convention for her. She’d had no idea what she’d been missing all these years…or what Mac had been up to.
    A horrible pounding on the door to her condo made her groan anew.
    “Time to go, princess.”
    Normally she loved his voice, and she should have loved that he’d come to her condo rather than getting on the first plane out of here this morning. Last night had been crazy. Great, but crazy. She was thrilled Mac had shown up and not even two hours later she’d been laying on a table in a tattoo parlor, mostly naked, him stroking her breasts with pink paint. Another glance down confirmed there had, indeed, been paint and it had been—and still was—pink.
    Mac had touched her breasts.
    Things were definitely on track.
    She pushed herself up and only thought for a second about throwing up. The urge passed and with it she remembered having thrown up the night before on the way back to the condo. With Mac right beside her.
    Yeah, that was sexy.

    Just My Type
    “Get your sweet ass out of bed, princess. We’ve got stuff to do.” Hormones apparently worked even when she had a headache. Her body warmed and softened at Mac’s words.
    “We don’t have to get out of bed for the stuff,” she said, swinging her door open.
    His shoulder was propped against her doorjamb and he looked well rested and not even slightly hungover. In fact, he looked wonderful.
    He grinned down at her. “You look like crap.”
    “I look like I drank way too many orange paradises.”
    “You did drink too many.”
    “Your fault.”
    “You wanted to get really, really drunk.”
    “I’m crossing that off my to-do list.”
    “I was going to make you suffer through the hangover. You earned it. But here, this will help.” He handed her a bottle of Gatorade. “Take some ibuprofen too. Then we’re going for a run.” She blinked up at him.
    “Did you hear me?”
    “I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “Thought you said a run.”
    “I did.”
    “I don’t run.”
    “What do you mean?”
    She blinked five more times. “I mean, I don’t run.”
    His eyes traveled to her toes and back up. She tingled and clutched the Gatorade against her stomach that was suddenly flipping—in a good way.
    “How do you stay in shape?”
    She lifted a shoulder. “Good luck, mostly.”
    He smiled at that. “You don’t work out at all?”
    “Yoga sometimes.”
    He wrinkled his nose. “That doesn’t count.”
    “You ever try it?”
    “Do you break a sweat?”
    She wrinkled her nose this time. “Not if I can help it.”
    “And wouldn’t want to break a nail,” he said dryly.
    Sara glanced at her French manicure. Which did look very nice if she did say so herself. “Exactly,” she