Maeve Lane wanted to pretend she hadn't heard, but her skin was maddeningly sensitive, turning pink. "No."
"You're trying to deny it?" Julian Fairchild turned her body towards him.
"I was drunk."
Maeve got out of bed, making an excuse at random, trying to escape the room.
But how could Julian allow her to leave? He pulled her into his arms, his large hand slipping into her hair, "You think you can just leave after sleeping with me?"
Maeve's face was almost steaming. The recording she had just heard practically made her want to die of embarrassment and shame, so she avoided looking at him, "We're not suitable."
Julian lowered his head and kissed the corner of her mouth, murmuring tenderly, "Not suitable? I think we were quite 'suitable' yesterday."
