Stranded At Cupid's Hideaway. Connie Lane

He held up his trousers with one hand and pointed at Laurel with the other.

      “That’s not—”

      Laurel squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath. That might have been a whole lot easier if the breath didn’t wedge against the ball of panic in her throat. “No bathrobes,” she told him. “At least not that I can find. This is the only thing here for you to change into.” She held out the bit of green fabric. “I can’t say for sure. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one before. I think…” She looked again at the triangular wedge of fabric. It had straps sewn to it, like a thong, and it was embroidered to look like—

      “I think,” Laurel said, “it’s a fig leaf.”

      She didn’t wait to see how Noah might respond. She didn’t want to know. Her cheeks on fire, her heart in her throat, her knees as wobbly as if she’d run a couple miles, Laurel thrust the fabric fig leaf into Noah’s hands and headed for the door. She bolted into the hallway and slammed the door closed behind her.

      Out of the corner of her eye, Laurel caught sight of the wooden snake carved into the sign. Its grinning face and flashing eyes told her it knew exactly what had happened inside the room. Exactly what she was thinking. Exactly how close she’d come to ignoring all the good advice she’d given herself over the past four years.

      “What are you looking at?” She glared at the snake right before she pushed away from the door and headed downstairs, far from Almost Paradise and all the temptation that lay just on the other side of the door.