Sinful Temptations by Kitty Kendall

Author:Kitty Kendall [Kendall, Kitty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The next six days of our tour went exactly to plan. No tourists got lost. None of the women broke down into uncontrollable tears. Nobody had to be rescued from the gutter after a pissy night on the booze. Roman continued to be Mr. Perfect.

But there was one disappointing fact . . . I didn’t do anything that added to my list of firsts.

And that made that damn ticking clock boom louder and louder.

We arrived in Amsterdam at two o’clock in the afternoon. It was a beautiful city—much calmer than some of the bustling metropolises I visited each month.

This was my thirty-first time here and just about every visit, I’d said to myself that I should hire a bike and ride along the numerous canals that crisscrossed Amsterdam.

Today was that day.

The last time I’d ridden a bike was about fifteen years ago, and it had not been pretty. I was about as uncoordinated as a crab on skates.

Today would probably be the same, but I didn’t care. Tick. Tick. Tick.

At the hostel, after all the tourists were sorted, I turned to Roman. “Hey. What are you up to now?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Well . . .” I wasn’t sure if I wanted Roman to come with me. On one hand, I was likely to make an absolute fool of myself. On the other, it would be another first we could share together. Besides, if I did accidentally crash my bike into a canal, at least Roman would be there to rescue me. With that sorted, I said, “I’m going for a bike ride. Do you want to join me?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“No. I didn’t mean it like that. But . . .” He beamed. “Absolutely. Count me in.”

My heart skipped a beat. His energy was both cute and contagious and after a commitment to meet in the lobby in ten minutes, we vanished into our rooms.

I thought I’d been quick, but when I stepped out of the elevator, Roman had beaten me back down to reception.

My first sight of him had me rethinking my plan. He looked like Mr. Sporty, only way hotter. He was wearing shorts. And just like all the clothing he wore, he managed to make them every bit as sexy as a runway model, yet as sporty as a professional athlete. Mr. Perfect strikes again.

Meanwhile, I’d put on a loose T-shirt, a bra that I thought would handle my boobs should I deviate off-road, and three-quarter-length leggings that unfortunately emphasized my nonexistent ass.

What was it about him? It didn’t matter what he wore, what time of the day or night, what length his beard was—this man could do no wrong. Maybe I was living a real-life Shallow Hal and I’d put him on such a pedestal that I could no longer see the real Roman. Maybe . . . he wasn’t any more special than any other guy.

That had to be it. I’d been wearing fucking rose-colored glasses. Yes. That made perfect sense. He didn’t treat me as special.

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