She’d never been very good at holding her liquor. But at least the delicious, nutmeggy rum had managed to do what every piece of clothing she’d packed—plus the patchwork quilt off the bed—hadn’t. She was warm right down to her bones. Even if she did look like Kenny from South Park with the faux-fur lined hood of her parka pulled tight around her face.Her head flopped over the arm of the couch as the alcohol buzz bathed her in its glow, a stark contrast to the winter wonderland outside. So what if she was drunk at breakfast? There was no one here to judge her and, besides, it must be five o’clock somewhere in the world.Australia? It had to be well past five in Sydney. In fact, they’d probably already rung in the New Year by now. Did they have a ball that dropped somewhere? she wondered, and then smiled and shut her eyes as the room rocked from side to side.Gradually Tamara became aware of scraping and then thudding at the door, like something—or someone—very big was stamping its boots.
