Waking Up In The Wrong Bed. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
heard footsteps—the clipping sound of high heels on concrete. A cough, then laughter rising up from the courtyard below the window. She froze. People were still up, still awake. Could have heard... The realization brought reality back with a crash.
The morning after hadn’t been a very much thought-upon part of her plan. Now all the decisions came to her split-second: this would change nothing between them. They’d be colleagues who’d had a carefree kick together one night. That was all. She knew he flirted with every woman he met and that this would mean nothing to him. So it had to mean nothing to her too. She liked to think he’d keep his mouth shut. While in their industry hook-ups were common, this was her first. But she knew it would hardly become notorious news—there were people far more important than her for others to talk about. And she was not going to let this get ugly. It was over already.
She peeled her chest from his, preparing to slide off his body and get back to her own room. But he pulled her back against him. He was stronger than she’d thought he’d be. He was more everything than she’d thought he’d be.
‘Stay.’ A low, sleepy word—but a command none the less. His embrace tightened. Inescapable but so irresistible.
She hadn’t expected this caring comfort either. He rolled them both in a smooth movement, settling them into a sleep position—still devastatingly intimate. The moment of clarity she’d had before now melted in lax drowsiness as she physically melted back into his warm strength. He lifted a heavy leg over hers, his arms curled tighter—cradling her ultra-close. Consciousness slipped. Her muscles were spent, that yearning in her depths sated. The last thing she heard was another burst of laughter coming through the open window. A man’s laugh. With the last fragment of conscious energy she frowned—she recognised that laugh.
* * *
Hours later she slowly woke to a low moan echoing in her ears. Her own moan as she released a breath that seemed to have been held for ever. Her heart was pumping, her skin—and other bits—damp and so hot. She was having the most vivid, gorgeous dream. She resisted opening her eyes, wanting to stay in the sizzling fantasy. And in that fantasy she was imprisoned in the arms of one very hot, hard body—part of that body was very, very hard. His fingertips gently brushed down her lower belly. The urge to flex her hips—to invite—was irresistible. As she rocked back against him she felt the rebellious ache in her muscles, but she didn’t care. Not as the memories cleared—the wildness of that ride coming into focus. Not when his hips teased right back and his fingers went...
‘Good morning.’ His voice was less sleep-rusted than it had been last night, but it was still strange.
Ellie froze. Her heart stopped, totalling her oxygen supply. Then she spun, inadvertently trapping his hand between her legs. The molten-brown eyes intently focused on her weren’t the pale green ones she’d expected.
‘Oh, my God!’ She jerked to a sitting position, trapping his hand all the more. Clutching the sheet to her chest with hands curled into claws, she squawked, utterly breathless, ‘Who the hell are you?’
CHAPTER TWO
RUBEN THEROUX had never had a bedmate regret frolicking with him and he had no intention of breaking that record now. He didn’t care that he hadn’t a clue who his sexy intruder was. No, the question he’d spent the last twenty minutes musing over was what colour her eyes were. Now he knew. Cornflower blue and crazy big. And though shock had whitened her face, she was still the prettiest thing he’d woken to find in his bed. Then again, he hadn’t woken to anyone in his bed in a while. Relationships and Ruben were like oil and water, and he’d been too busy in recent times for even a five hour fling. So maybe it wasn’t surprising he’d spent so long studying the soft woman soundly sleeping—until he’d succumbed to the temptation to tease. And, oh, my, she was hot to tease.
‘You’re not Nathan.’ Strangled sound emerged as she stated the obvious.
‘No,’ he answered calmly, not moving a muscle so as not to freak her out more. But who the hell was Nathan and how could she have made such a mistake?
‘How can you not be Nathan?’ she gasped.
Yeah, his thoughts exactly. ‘Well.’ He stated it quietly. ‘This isn’t Nathan’s room. This is my room.’ Literally. Every room in the place was his.
Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. He waited—motionless—to see how this was going to go. She didn’t seem to realise her thighs were sandwiching his hand in a hot, smooth vice and he wasn’t going to make any sudden kind of movement. But the memory of those limbs straddling his hips wasn’t helping him recover his equilibrium. All he could feel were those lush, strong curves. He wanted the rest of him to be in the midst of them again.
She flicked a wild glance around the room and then arrowed all her attention right back at him. ‘But this has to be his room—I counted the doors. The other one was empty.’
He pressed his lips together to stop the chuckle sliding out because he didn’t want to make the situation worse for her.
‘Are you sure you’re in the right room?’ she asked, her eyes still shocked wide.
‘Positive. I got in late last night.’ He’d been so tired it had been all he’d been able to do to stumble from the shower straight to what was definitely his bed. ‘I came to bed and then the best dream ever turned out to be real.’
Only his dream-turned-real lover was now turning fifty shades of red—embarrassment staining her skin in a swift sweep. Her murmurs of pleasure came back to him—her rough claim that she hadn’t known it would be so good. Yeah. The sweetheart had made a mistake. She’d meant that passion for some other guy. A sharp claw of envy swiped his ribs, puncturing his enjoyment of his best ever wake-up. But it hadn’t been some other guy who’d pleased her so much. It had been him.
‘You’re a guest here?’ she asked in a low choked voice.
‘Actually I—’
She didn’t give him the chance to introduce himself; instead she launched into a monologue of mortification and panic. ‘Oh, I can’t believe this. I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.’
Partly because he wanted to see her reaction, but mainly because he couldn’t resist, he let his fingers stroke—just the once, so very gently—in the hot, damp prison she gripped them in.
The incessant apologies ended instantly on a breathless gasp. Her mouth reddened, her muscles tightened and her temperature sizzled. His eyes locked on hers, watching the blue go brilliant, then her black pupils absorbed that colour as they swelled super fast. Her flush deepened. He felt the spasms before she twisted, releasing him as she scuttled to the far edge of the bed.
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ he said, wondering if he should be the one saying sorry now. But he couldn’t quite regret it. She’d been waking up so wonderfully willing in his arms when she’d thought he was this Nathan, but just then? That had been a raw response to him. She was hot and hungry for him. As she’d been last night when he’d been the one to meet her demands.
A swift glance told him what he needed to know—there were no rings between those white knuckles. No guy had staked a permanent claim and the Nathan guy was a fool for not taking her to bed sooner. The woman was passionate and hungry, literally a dream lover.
He coughed to ease the constriction in his chest. ‘I’m sorry I’m not Nathan.’
Only because he wanted what she’d meant for the other guy—that invitation and pleasure. Hell, he wanted it now. He was stiffer than a steel pipe and feeling her sensual response spike like that had worsened it. But he fought the impulse to drag her close again, wincing at his new-found Neanderthal leanings.
The poor woman was completely mortified and he was all rampaging lust, desperate to sleep with her again. What kind of human was he?
Definitely one who’d been without too long. Because try as hard as he could