Cat Burglar in Training Read Online Free PDF Page B

move from the bed was a bad idea. My stomach retaliated. I groaned and staggered to the bathroom, where I hurled until my throat burned and my sides ached for relief.
    Shivering, I hugged the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. Nausea coupled with inner panic and a sense of dirtiness beat me down. It was obvious what had happened, even to someone in my confused state.
    I’d had sex.
    Someone had taken me without my permission.
    Tears burned my gritty eyes. Although I’d flirted and had numerous boyfriends, I didn’t believe in casual sex. It wasn’t that I was saving myself for Mr. Right, but I’d wanted my first time to mean something special.
    I concentrated, desperate to recollect the previous night. It was a blur. I recalled nothing of leaving the ballroom, of entering this room. I had no idea who I’d been with after the party. A man. A woman. Or a combination thereof. Hysterical laughter crammed my throat.
    Get a grip. I shuffled to the shower, turned it on and stepped under the water, heedless of the fact it still ran cold. Gradually, steam filled the shower cubicle. I reached blindly for the luxurious shower gel provided by the hotel and scrubbed my skin, my hair, while the scent of citrus and olive swirled around me.
    About half an hour later, my brain started to function. I needed to discover who’d done this to me. I wanted answers.
    I shut off the shower and grabbed a towel. Drying myself briskly, I avoided my reflection in the myriad mirrors in the designer bathroom.
    Back in the bedroom, I found the clothes I’d worn the previous night scattered over the floor—an electric-blue gown designed especially for me by one of my friends, my wispy underwear and thigh-high stockings. A shudder swept my body when I stared at them. Although I was reluctant to don the clothes, there was no option.
    Fully dressed, I hunted for my shoes and bag. My bag lay by the bed. One shoe sat by the door, while the other was on top of a writing desk. I plucked the shoe off the desk and froze. The shoe had been used to weigh down a wad of money. Six crisp fifty-pound notes. If I hadn’t felt like a tramp before, I did now.
    A sob of shame escaped. God, whoever I’d been with last night really wanted to rub my nose in the muck at the bottom of the gutter. The need to level the playing field burned in my gut. I hungered for payback. Somehow I’d catch the bastard who’d done this to me.
    Laying aside pride, I shoved the money in my bag and let myself out of Room 210.
    I marched to the lift, fury whipping my determination. When the car arrived, I stomped inside to join two women passengers. My anger must have shown because they edged back against the walls as if I harbored an insidious disease. Uncomfortable silence greeted the man who entered on the next floor down. His brows rose when he saw me in last night’s crinkled clothes.
    “What are you staring at?” I snapped.
    A smile hovered on his lips. “Nothing, sweetheart.”
    “I’m not your sweetheart,” I snarled.
    We reached the ground floor. I swept out with my nose in the air and joined the line at reception. Tapping my left foot on the carpeted floor, I waited for my turn.
    The receptionist was a young man. Sandy hair. Earnest face. He sported a pimple on the end of his large nose. “Are you checking out?” His tone expressed doubt as his gaze swept me from head to waist.
    Sensing the high level of interest behind me, I kept my voice low and polite. At finishing school, I’d learned that manners gained more than a show of rudeness. I’d slipped earlier in the lift but had myself back in control. “Yes, please,” I said pleasantly. “Room 210.”
    He tapped on his keyboard. “All the charges have been paid.”
    “Yes, but by whom?”
    His brows drew together. “Don’t you know?”
    Behind me, someone chuckled. My cheeks burned. “No.” I swallowed my pride. Again. “I’d like to know so I can…ah…thank them.”
    He tapped on the keyboard again.