Tempt Me More by Pippa Brook

Author:Pippa Brook [Brook, Pippa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-03-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

Cressida

I wake up to the most wonderful smell in my apartment. Is that coffee and… bacon? I sit up quickly, immediately regretting it as a splitting hangover headache rattles around in my skull.

The events from last night come rushing back, increasing the intensity of my headache by the second. I puked my guts out in front of Jonah Griffin…

I. Puked. In. Front. Of. Jonah. Griffin. Holding my pillow to my face, I scream.

Wait… who’s cooking breakfast? In a tentative voice, I call out, “Petra? Is that you?”

Jonah materializes in my doorway like a genie from a magic lamp. He’s wearing my floral apron and holding a pink whisk, looking sexier than any man has the right to be. Suddenly, it occurs to me how I must look after a night of retching and sobbing. With a shriek, I pull the blankets over my head.

“Everything okay under there?” Jonah asks.

“Kill me,” I murmur.

He chuckles. “I put a bottle of Gatorade next to your bed. Hydrate. It’ll help with the headache.”

I reach a hand out from beneath the covers, scooping the drink from the nightstand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. Can you make it to the kitchen, or should I bring you breakfast in bed?”

Jonah Griffin is offering me breakfast in bed? Why is he making me breakfast at all?

I gasp as a thought occurs to me. Letting the blankets fall, I stare at Jonah in horror. “We didn’t… I mean… you and I? There was no—” I search my brain for the word in my employee contract “—fraternizing?”

“Of course not,” he says indignantly. “I would never fraternize with someone as drunk as you were! I brought you home, that’s all.”

I shake my head slowly. That’s not all. “You stayed.”

He shrugs. “You were sick. I was afraid to leave you here alone, so I slept on your couch.”

I glance down at my Jurassic Park pajamas, and I feel a flush of embarrassment creep across my face. “Did you help me change my clothes?”

He shakes his head. “No. You must have done that sometime last night. You were still fully clothed when I helped you into bed.” His gaze flicks down to my chest, and my skin grows tight. “I like the dinosaur jammies, though. Cute.”

I raise the covers over my head again. “Go away,” I wail.

He laughs. “You still haven’t told me whether you’d like breakfast here or in the kitchen.”

I lower my shield of blankets just enough to peek at him. “I’ll come to the kitchen.”

“It’s a date,” he says, chuckling as he walks away.

“We’re not allowed to date!” I shout at his retreating back.

When he’s gone, I leap out of bed and dart to the door, pushing it closed and locking it. I feel like death warmed over and make a vow—once again—to never go to Mercury Slice on Ladies’ Night. Half-priced pitchers of margaritas are too dangerous. Chugging the bottle of Gatorade, I scramble to the ensuite bathroom and turn on the shower. I don’t dare glance at my reflection in the mirror—nothing good can come from that.

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