She was suddenly filled with doubt. She’d thought they’d had a lot of fun last night, but maybe it was purely one-sided? She got out of bed and realized she was still in her jeans and sweatshirt from last night. Huh. She never slept with her clothes on, and she didn’t recall coming upstairs.
Elise headed downstairs for a drink of water, and met Emily in the kitchen.
The other woman gave her a knowing smirk, and stirred a bowl of batter. “Well hello, there, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” Elise murmured. She rubbed her eyes and glanced back at the living room. It was sparkling clean, no hint of last night’s bacchanal remaining. “Did I—”
“Drink all my beer and then some? Yes, yes, you did.”
“Oh.” She could feel the flush heating her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. You two looked like you had fun.” Emily gave her a knowing look. “How’d you manage to score such a hot date on such short notice?”
Oh jeez. “It wasn’t a date. He got stuck in the rain and came in to stay dry.”
“And so you two had a beer party?”
“Something like that.” She was never going to stop blushing, was she? “Did he drive home last night?”
“Nope. He carried you up to bed and then stayed in one of the other rooms. Left this morning.”
“Carried . . . me . . . up?”
“Yup.” Emily’s smug smile was full of pleasure. “Made me all weak in the knees to see a guy do that. Lifted you like you were nothing.”
Elise definitely wasn’t “nothing.” She would be politely referred to as “sturdy.” “I hope he didn’t hurt himself.”
“Not at all. Now . . . tell me the deets.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Emily snorted. “Bullcrap. A man doesn’t hang around and carry a girl up to bed if there aren’t deets.”
“He was just being nice.”
Emily waved her spoon at Elise. “I’ve seen nice, and I’ve seen interested, and he’s the latter.”
That surprised Elise to hear, and she felt her cheeks flush even redder. Could that be true? Could someone as sexy as Rome be even remotely interested in someone as unattractive as herself? She touched her cheek, thinking. “I really like him, Emily,” she said wistfully. “He’s so gorgeous and nice.”
“It’s a dangerous combination,” Emily agreed, putting down her bowl and getting out an ice cream scooper. She dug it into the batter and plopped a scoop of cookie dough onto a baking sheet. “You should tell him. Ask him out. Make the first move. I bet he’d like that.”
Would he? Elise tugged on her hair, dragging it across the bad side of her face. She didn’t know how to tell if a guy was flirting, but it seemed like he’d been flirting with her last night. Heck, they’d shot sexual question after sexual question at each other—too bad she didn’t remember any of the answers. But it had been poorly lit last night. What if she approached him in daylight and he got a really good look at her discolored cheek? He’d seen her a few times before, but things always looked harsh under bright sunlight. What about the scars on her back, or her h*ps and shoulder that didn’t exactly align, thanks to the scoliosis and subsequent back surgery?
She was filled with doubt. The thought of asking a guy out—especially one as smoking hot as Rome—seemed like a pipe dream.
“Well?” Emily prompted.
“I . . . don’t even know where to begin,” Elise confessed in a small voice.
“I do,” Emily said. “You take a shower, fix your hair and makeup real nice, wear a sexy shirt and some tight jeans, and show up with some cookies for him. Tell him you had fun talking and would he want to go get a beer sometime? Voilà.” She plopped another scoop of dough onto the sheet. “In fact, you can take him these cookies.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Oh, it’s not easy. But a guy like him? You’ll be kicking yourself if you don’t at least try to get into his pants.”
Emily had a point. “I’ll go shower,” Elise said.
“Do it fast before you can talk yourself out of it,” Emily suggested.
That was not a bad idea.
• • •
An hour later, Elise was driving out to the Daughtry Ranch with a container of fresh-baked oatmeal raisin cookies on the car seat next to her. Her heart was knocking a mile a minute in her chest, and she kept checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. She was wearing a good deal of makeup, a larger amount than she probably should have on her bad cheek, but there was nothing to be done for that. Better to look like she was heavy on the powder than to have him question why one of her cheeks was slightly discolored. The rest of her makeup looked great, though, and she was wearing a tight black sweater that was supposed to be worn with an undershirt that she’d strategically neglected to put on. The low cut of it played up her cle**age, and Emily had tried to press high heels on her, but she’d declined. After all, if she had to find Rome out on the grounds, that was going to be really hard to do if her heels were constantly sinking into the earth.
She parked at the far end of the parking lot, hoping that no one would come out and say hello to her. Grant or Brenna would notice her makeup and her tight sweater, and the last thing she wanted to do was field questions from them. Elise grabbed the plate of cookies, pocketed her keys, and hesitated.
God, was she crazy for doing this? What if he was just being polite? What if he was totally being nice to her just because she was Grant’s “fragile” sister? She’d die of embarrassment if that was the case.
Elise wavered, suddenly full of doubt.
There’s not enough life experience and it shows in the photos . . .
Damn it. She’d never get anywhere being afraid. What was the worst that could happen? Her hands trembled as she brushed a lock of hair out of her face, and she tried to calm down. Maybe he would laugh in her face. Maybe he would call her terrible names and stomp on her feelings. She could lick her wounds and return home to Tahoe and never see him again. It would hurt, but at least she could say she tried.
And really, if she was going to pursue a guy, it might as well be one as delicious looking as Rome Lozada. Aim for the top, she figured.
Steeling herself for the worst, Elise took a deep breath and stepped away from the car.
She avoided the main lodge. Yesterday he’d been painting the wooden castle, and she hoped he was out there again. If not, well, she’d cross that bridge when she got there. It was early afternoon, since she’d slept through the morning, but the ground was still wet from the prior night’s storms and a little soft and muddy. She was rather glad she’d skipped the heels. She headed down the path into the woods, clutching the plate of cookies in front of her like it was a shield.