Lightning Strikes. Colleen CollinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
solid, with a chin that jutted forward slightly even as he slept. As though on guard, ready to take life on the chin. A tough guy. Funny, though, how he slept with his hands clenched into tight balls, as though he were protecting something. What? From what she’d seen of his place, he owned next to nothing. Maybe he was protecting something deep inside himself. A secret.
Her gaze swept back over him. He was tall, if she judged the way his head touched one end of the mattress and his feet almost dangled off the other.
She perused him head to foot again, stopping in the middle…Maybe this was crass, but she wanted a good look for herself, ensure that he looked healthy before she woke him up and asked him if he was.
He looked good. Very good. Normal. No, better than normal, but that wasn’t what she was supposed to be checking.
She released a pent-up breath.
But she’d have to be blind not to notice.
Even asleep, with his body relaxed, he was big. Not that she was a size expert, unless intimate relationships with four different men—well, technically three—made one an expert. Which, at thirty years of age, was an embarrassing admission.
“What are you staring at?” asked a gruff, irritated male voice.
Donovan blinked at the naked woman, who slowly raised her head and stared, wide-eyed, her green eyes nearly translucent in a slant of bright yellow sunlight. It reminded him of the way sunlight filtered through the aquamarine waters in the Caribbean. The rays sliced through those shimmering blue waters, revealing every nuance of life.
She quickly crossed her arms so they covered her breasts—but not before he’d seen their full, pink-tipped beauty. A memory seared through his mind, then faded.
Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “I’m…I’m…” Suddenly, she dropped back her head, then jerked forward with an ear-numbing sneeze.
He shut his eyes. Gave his head a shake.
He’d woken up bone weary plenty of times before, but it’d been years since he’d woken up with a woman he didn’t even recognize.
And of the two or three fair members of the opposite sex with whom he had woken up and not remembered, this was the first who’d checked out his privates, then sneezed.
He’d try not to read too much into that.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, then squinted open one eye. Coffee. He needed coffee.
He glanced up. She stood there, cross-armed and wide-eyed. As though she were standing at attention.
“What are you doing?” he croaked.
She shrugged. “Waitink…” She coughed, then cleared her throat. “Waiting for you to wake up,” she answered, enunciating each word.
“Well, I’m up.” Barely. He never dealt with the world, especially the people in it, until after he’d had his jolt of caffeine. The opposite of this lady, it appeared, who bounded out of bed and observed the world—and those still sleeping in it—with big, disarming green eyes.
With great effort, he propped himself on his elbow, determined not be amused by this quirky situation. He still wasn’t sure what he was dealing with, but whatever it was, he’d keep his cool until he understood the situation, which was a one-eighty turn from the younger, hotheaded Donovan.
“You sick?” he asked.
“Allergies.”
Naked. Wild auburn hair. Allergies.
And, he thought with an inward smile, impossibly cute.
But nothing clicked. Not a single detail, and he a man who earned good money thanks to his affinity for details. Couldn’t analyze a computer failure unless one had a head for bits and bytes.
And nibbles. Another flash of memory. His lips on her flesh, nibbling.
He squinted one eye at her. For the life of him, he was clueless to identify this emerald-eyed, allergy-ridden woman who stood naked before him.
And if he couldn’t identify her, could he identify where the hell they were?
He jerked his head around.
He was in some fancy brass bed, for starters. He glanced around the room. White, nondescript walls. And his plant.
He frowned and looked up at the slatted blinds, with the missing fourth slat that always looked like a missing tooth. And that’s my window. He shifted his gaze back to the intruder.
“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” Okay, so much for keeping his cool. This was his turf. Different rules altogether. Nobody entered his domain, ever, without his permission. Maybe he’d lost a lot in the world, but he still owned his privacy.
Without moving her strategically placed arms, she managed to point a forefinger at the bed. “This belongth to me.”
He paused, unprepared for that curve ball. “This…bed,” he repeated slowly.
She nodded.
“This bed that’s in my bedroom.”
She nodded, her eyes widening.
He should count to ten. “Tell me.” One, two, three. “How the hell did your bed get into my bedroom?”
“Rawlf,” she whispered, followed by a cough.
His gaze slid down, over her arms—for a compact type, she’s got some biceps— down to her belly button, which is where the mattress cut off his view. Nothing looked familiar, yet heated memories of satiny skin and soft breasts ricocheted through his mind.
Had they…?
He glanced down. He was naked, too. Not that he really gave a damn. Growing up on a ranch with three older, rowdy brothers had permanently eradicated his shy gene.
But considering he was naked, and she was naked…
He cocked an eyebrow and shot her a look. He caught her scent. Sweet, like almonds. That little detail sizzled through his brain, triggering other memories. The taste of her lips. Her lusty moan.
Details…small details taunted his memory. If he didn’t need the money so bad, he’d blow off future back-to-back business trips. Because to forget what you experienced with a woman had to be one sorry statement for a man’s life.
First things first. “Where’s my bed?”
Her plump little lips opened into a little O—and remained stuck in that position. Finally, she blurted, “Your bed?”
Back in college, this would have been one of his buddies’ tricks. Plant a naked woman and a strange bed in good ol’ Donnie’s room. But he didn’t have buddies like that anymore. Had no buddies, actually, unless he counted Bill, the bartender at The Keg.
“My bed. Wooden. Plain.” He’d never described his bed before, just slept in it. It was comfortable, cheap…and up until last night, reliable.
She wriggled her nose, as though she were going to sneeze again, then pursed her lips and appeared to hold her breath for a long moment. Finally, she released her breath in a whoosh, looking relieved. “Don’t know.”
He nodded. Forget the coffee, I’ll just go straight for the vodka. But despite the insanity of the situation, he detected a logical thread. “Did Rawlf take it?”
She cleared her throat. “R-A-L-P-H,” she spelled.
“Oh, Ralph.” It was hard to stay ticked listening to such a cute, stuffed-up nose. Attached to such a cute, compact body. He rubbed his bottom lip, trying not to smile. “So did, uh, Ralph take it?”
“Prob’bly,” she answered.
Donovan dragged his hands through his hair, blew out a gust of air, then shoved himself across the bed. He swung his legs over and stood in front of Ms.