Chapter 211

After Mirabelle left, Ashton dropped back onto the pillows, one arm flung over his eyes. The sheets were still warm where she’d been. He rolled over, caught her scent on the pillow, and then looked down. He swore under his breath, glaring at the tent in his pyjama trousers. He shifted, adjusted, then swore again. His eyes drifted to the nightstand. There, stacked with smug precision, were the three dozen boxes of condoms. Delivered far too late to be useful. He made a mental note to dock the manager’s pay. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then again. And again. He reached for it, thumbed the screen to life. Three messages. All from Rowan. First: [So sorry again about the mix-up at dinner. I had no idea someone would photograph us together like that.] Second: [Just saw your post (and Mirabelle’s)! Congratulations! Truly. You two look perfect together.] Third: [I really hope that misunderstanding didn’t cause any trouble between you and Mirabelle. Please tell her I didn’t mean to intr