Lucas's deep, resonant chuckle trailed back to her through the thick mahogany paneling, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the wood and into her palms.
Nina stood frozen against the locked door, shoulders pressed hard against the frame as if she could physically hold the rest of the world at bay. Her fingertips splayed against the polished surface, seeking something solid to anchor her spiraling thoughts.
She closed her eyes, letting her head drop back against the wood with a soft thud. The cool surface did nothing to ease the heat flooding her face. "How did I get that drunk?" she whispered, then louder, "Oh my God... oh my God, Nina, what is wrong with you?"
Her voice cracked with self-recrimination, each word sharper than the last. "Three glasses of scotch and suddenly you're throwing yourself at a man who buys and sells shipping conglomerates for breakfast?"
