When he reached the front door, he heard her footsteps padding behind him. He looked back to see her standing in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. Snoopy hovered at her feet adoringly. "Good. Go. And by the way, if I was sober there's no way I would've kissed you. I don't like guys like you."
Shaken, he closed the door between them.
CHAPTER 7
Annie groaned and pulled the pillow over her head to smother the incessant ringing in her ears.
It didn’t help. Her head felt like it had been smashed into millions of tiny pieces which she expected to see scattered over her bedroom floor when she opened her eyes. If she opened her eyes. So far, her plan to lie in bed for the rest of the day with her eyes shut seemed like the best headache remedy. The aspirin in the bathroom cabinet was half way around the world.
"Annie, get up," shouted a deep male voice. It sounded as far away as the aspirin.
Zack. She groaned again, rolled out of bed and thumped across the floor like a zombie. Probably she should’ve refused to get up but her brain cells had ceased functioning last night and it was easier not to argue.
She opened the door and flung a hand over her eyes. "Turn off the light."
Zack moved past her, closing the door behind him. "The sun doesn't come with an off switch. Annie, where have you been? I've been ringing the doorbell for ages."
"Cowering under my blanket. You made me drink that God-awful hair of the dog and it didn't work."
He chuckled. Jerk. Maybe she should just go back to bed. Not only could she not put up with his smartass comments right now, but with her head under the blankets he couldn't see her. She didn't dare look in a mirror—she didn't want to frighten herself.
"You look like Hell," he said, reading her thoughts.
"Thanks, Einstein. Now that we've established that, you can leave."
"No way, this could be fun."
She glanced up at him. The creep was smirking. "What?"
"Taking you shopping with a hangover."
She groaned and flopped onto the sofa, flinging an arm over her eyes. Maybe if she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her. But when the room fell silent, she realized he was no longer there. She lowered her arm and gently opened her crusty eyelids, just in time to see him emerge from the bathroom and enter the kitchen.
"Snooping again?" she asked, voice rasping in a sexy way that she thought made her sound, well, sexy.
"No, getting some aspirin." He handed her a glass of water and two tablets. "Drink up."
"That's what you said last night with that hair of the dog stuff. This better work."
He waited until she swallowed the tablets and took the glass from her. When she started to lie back on the sofa, he caught her hand and pulled her up.
"Oh no you don't. You're going to have a shower." He led her by the hand into the bathroom and propped her against the cool tiles. She closed her eyes, listening to the splashing water as he turned on the taps.
"Now get undressed."
She opened one eye and found herself staring him in the face.
"I'm not staying," he added, "but since you're going to be trying on lots of clothes, I suggest you shave your legs."
Oh no. Annie winced, recalling the words spoken in drunkenness the night before. She really had to learn to keep her mouth shut, and not just when she was drunk. She heard the door close on Zack's throaty chuckle.
Half an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom feeling slightly less ill and a great deal more presentable. She was ready for a day of shopping, even if it killed her. She'd made a resolution to not let Zack see how hung-over she was—she had her dignity to maintain after all. What little of it was left after the previous night anyway. Not that she could remember much...
"Please tell me you've got the Ferrari and not the bike. I don't think I could handle another ride on that thing. Not this morning."
"If you throw up on the bike at least you won’t ruin the upholstery."
"I'm not going to throw up! I feel perfectly fine." Liar.
"Good. Because we've got a lot of shopping to do and it's already one o'clock."
First stop was Rodeo Drive. Annie cringed at the prices in the designer shops but Zack didn't even blink. He made her try on a pair of gorgeous Prada slides with a moderate heel and straps criss-crossing over the toes. They were the sort of shoes she'd never dream of purchasing—neither practical nor within her price range. Not even close. Slipping them on, she felt decadent, obscene and totally guilty. She loved them.
"I can't afford these," she told Zack emphatically, taking them off. "You could feed a starving family for a year at that price."
"You're not supposed to have a social conscience," he said from the corner where he'd been quietly watching her. He looked so imperious, leaning against the wall with his arms and legs crossed. A small smile played at the edge of his mouth. "You're too cool for that remember?"
She rolled her eyes. "Well, I could feed myself for a year at that price, then. How's that?"
"Better. But you're not getting out of it that easy. Those shoes are all the rage this year."
She frowned. How did he know that? Did the man of her dreams have a fetish for female shoes? The sound of her crashing obsession filled her ears.
He uncrossed his arms and frowned back at her. Then his face cleared and he smiled that knowing, cheeky smile. He nodded towards the male shop assistant. "So he told me."
"Well, whether they're all the rage or not, I still can't afford them."
"You don't have to."
Her eyes narrowed and she stood, hands on hips, glaring at him. "You are not buying me anything."
He ambled over to her, standing so close she could smell the subtle woodsy fragrance of his aftershave. It was delicious and she wanted to bury her nose in his neck.
"Why not?" he asked
"Because I've got principles." Damn those things. "I don't let men buy me anything until I've slept with them at least twice." She said it only half in jest.
He arched an eyebrow. "That sounds like a challenge.”
She glared at him.
"Fine," he said still smiling. "Since Bob's paying for them, it doesn't matter anyway."