Crappy, shitty, arsehole him. Debra, you’re losing it. You almost shagged a total stranger in the swimming pool of a five-star hotel. Shit, and it was so high up, I could have about qualified for the mile-high club without a plane. And, oh my God, without a condom. Am I the most stupid person in the world to dish out the advice and almost ignore it? Debra castigated herself as she tossed and turned in the super-king bed and punched her pillows much as she would have liked to have punched her mystery man. Which wasn’t fair. After all, it was her own fault he’d come on so strongly. She’d practically jumped the poor guy’s bones. How she’d managed to have the strength to leave, she had no idea. Especially after spotting the tiny tattoo outlined on his thigh. It looked like a Chinese symbol and she itched to trace her fingers over it. Had he spotted one very similar on her ass, or had the thin lacy knickers covered it? How could she act so out of character? She who’d spent the last year in her mental iron knickers and avoiding any scenario that could be even remotely called sexual.
