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parents, who laid the blame for their daughter’s death squarely at Lexi’s feet. They’d even refused to speak to her after discovering from the police report how close she’d been to the drink-driving limit. She shuddered as she recalled Sally’s father thick, pain-filled rant that she should have died, not his daughter.
    On the day of Sally’s funeral, she’d waited in her car for hours, just to be sure everyone had left before going to her friend’s graveside. There she’d said goodbye, and made her vow never to touch another drop of liquor for as long as she lived. So far she’d kept that promise. That particular promise had been easy to keep.
    As for the other promise, the one Cara had reminded her of half an hour ago…
    Lexi shook her head, shut off the thoughts and dashed away her tears. Her diary lay on her bedside table. She picked it up and opened it to the date she’d marked with a triple X. Snatching up her phone, she placed the call to double-check the flowers she’d ordered to be delivered to Sally’s grave in the London suburb they’d grown up in. Then she ordered the same to be delivered to Fiona’s room. Fresh wisteria, to drive away the sharp smell of disinfectant.
    Although the anniversary of the accident fell next Friday, one of her visiting days, she aimed to stay away. Fiona’s parents, and Cara most likely, would want to spend all day with her. And the last thing she wanted was another confrontation with Cara.
    She released the knot on the towel and dropped it on the floor. Naked, she walked into her closet, reached for her blue velour joggers and stopped as she heard the beep of her smart phone.
    Throwing the clothes on the bed, she returned to the living room, fetched the phone, and activated it.
    Blood surged through her veins when she recognized the number. The message itself was simple.
    Vegas?
    Ah, news traveled fast.
    She answered. Yes. Work.
    Meet me tonight.
    She swallowed. It’s Thursday.
    Meet me. Same time. Same place.
    Fingers poised over the keys, she sank onto the nearest chair, raw indecision eating at her. She needed this. Tonight of all nights, she needed this so badly. Her thumb moved, then froze as Cara’s warning echoed in her head.
    Dammit. R u there?
    Yes, I’m here, she responded. Where else would she be?
    You have one hour. And don’t even think about not showing up.
    God help her. She needed this.
    I’ll be there.
    Her whole body trembling, she shoved the phone back into her bag and returned to the bedroom. Stark naked, clothes forgotten, she laid back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
    She’d broken her promise. The only one she couldn’t keep. Again.
    It didn’t matter that she’d kept half of the whole promise; breaking even a small part of it always left a hollow feeling of guilt inside her.
    But to honor the promise would mean giving up the one small part of her life that kept her sane.
    I need this.
    She closed her eyes, already transported to the future, an hour away. The heated slide of hands, the skilful thrust of tongues, the potent smell of aroused bodies, and the electrifying pleasure-pain of a stiff cock pushing inside her – hard on soft.
    And yes, the monumental guilt that always followed, ready to consume, to annihilate.
    Six months, she’d lived with it. She would continue to live with it, until something gave. As she had no doubt it would.
     
    Just over an hour later, she parked in the underground car park of an apartment complex in an affluent neighborhood in West Hollywood, entered the private elevator, and pressed the button for the penthouse suite. She snatched a shaky breath, smoothed clammy hands down her red leather skirt, and watched the doors slide shut. Somehow, even the guilt made the anticipation sharper, sweeter. Like a child playing hooky for the first time, thoughts of discovery always lurked, but alongside was the hope that maybe, just maybe, she might get away with it.
    The elevator climbed higher, along with her