The all-too-familiar click of a pistol woke my ass up. I was lying naked on my stomach. I assumed I was still in Margaux’s bedroom. Where the hell were my clothes? Squeezing my eyes tight, I tried to remember what happened. The last thing I recalled was coming to Margaux’s for lunch. Then we had sex—that explained my lack of clothing—and I fell asleep.
Keep calm, I told myself.
There had to be a logical explanation for what was going on.
Logic said that Margaux had a boyfriend or a husband and my ass was trespassing on intimate property. Not a good spot to be in. Despite my tactical disadvantage, I pushed my hands over my head and didn’t dare move any farther.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish