“Scarlett.” “Hmm?” “I hate to interrupt your ogling, but can you please get up? As much as I love having you on top of me, this tile wasn’t designed for comfort.” My gaze snapped up to his as realization dawned for the second time that night. I was still straddling him. Asher’s eyes creased with mirth as I shoved off his chest and scrambled to my feet. Forget malicious spirits. If I died tonight, I only had myself to blame. Here lies Scarlett DuBois, a victim of self-inflicted humiliation.
