She slid her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand up, only to go sprawling on her face in the darkness. The bed was a good five inches higher than she’d anticipated.
She scrambled to her feet immediately, slightly shaken from her encounter with the bare wood floor. And then she froze.
The double bed in her mother’s guest room was much closer, to the floor than this one, and the entire house had discreet wall-to-wall carpeting. There wasn’t a bare patch of wood anywhere in her place, thanks to the previous tenants, and while Mary bemoaned the lack of wooden floors, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of perfectly good carpeting, especially with money being tight.
She wasn’t alone in the room. Someone was sitting by the window, in the shadows, the only sign the faint glow of his cigarette.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded. “And what are you doing in my room? And why are you smoking—my mother doesn’t allow smoking in the house....” Her voice trailed off in horror. It hadn’t sounded like her voice at all. It was lower, huskier, sexier sounding. She must have picked up a cold from those damned open windows. Or hay fever.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lou,” a man’s voice drifted from the corner. “I needed to talk to you in private, and I figured this might be my only chance without half your family wandering in and interrupting us. And just because your mother uses a silver cigarette holder doesn’t mean she doesn’t smoke almost a pack a day.”
The cigarette went flying out the window, the red tip arcing against the darkness. “But if it offends you so much I can do without I’ve practically given them up, anyway.”
She took a tentative step toward him, peering in the darkness. All she could make out was a shadowy figure, definitely masculine, slightly familiar. A frisson of horror ran through her.
“That’s not you, Jake, is it?” she demanded. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve coming in here uninvited.”
“Jack, sweetheart, not Jake. You’ve only known me most of your life, why should I expect you to get my name right?” he said in a lazy drawl. “Are you going to come over here and talk to me before your sister comes barging in here?”
“I don’t have a sister.”
“That’ll come as news to her and your parents.”
“I don’t have parents, either. Just my mother,” she said stubbornly, refusing to consider the stranger who’d shown up at Mary’s door just a few short hours ago.
“Fine,” the man said. “I’m not going to argue with you about it Are you going to listen to me or not?”
Susan didn’t move. She felt a nervous, tickling sensation at the back of her neck, and she , put her hand up under the thick mane of curls. And then froze. She didn’t have a thick mane of curls. She had short hair.
“Turn on the light,” she said in an urgent, husky voice. A voice she didn’t recognize.
The man in the corner moved, and a moment later a dim-watted bulb sent forth a pool of light into the strange room.
Be calm, she told herself. Don’t panic, don’t scream. There’s a logical explanation for all of this.
She looked down at the wedding dress she’d put on such a short time ago. It was the same dress, slightly crumpled from her nap, but still skimming her body and reaching to her toes. Except that there were breasts in the way.
She clutched her chest. “What are these?” They felt real, warm and wrapped in a formidable bra. She yanked open the neckline and looked down. They were breasts all right entrapped in a white foundation garment that looked downright medieval.
“I think they’re boobs, Lou,” the man named Jack said lazily. “You’ve had ’em since you were twelve.”
She jerked her head up to stare at the stranger sitting in her bedroom. No, not her bedroom, a stranger’s bedroom, smelling of stale cigarettes and Chanel Number Five. “What in God’s name is going on?” she whispered. “Who the hell are you? And why are you calling me Lou?”
The man in her room gave her an inimical look. He had short, dark hair, pushed straight back from a tanned, angular face, and he was dressed in a rumpled suit, his tie unknotted and loosened around his neck. “I beg your pardon, Tallulah,” he said, not bothering to hide his mockery. “Or should I say ‘Miss Abbott’? And you know perfectly well who I am.”
She took a step closer, then halted. “Humor me,” the husky voice came from somewhere beneath those unfamiliar breasts.
“I’m Jack McGowan, Jimmy’s brother, as you damned well know.”
“Who’s Jimmy?”
“If you’re trying to tick me off you’re doing a good job of it,” he growled, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. “Jimmy’s my kid brother. The boy you were going to marry. The war hero. The dead war hero.”
“You’re out of your mind,” she said faintly.
He rose, obscuring the unfamiliar window, and he was very tall in the dim light. “You’re the one who’s acting like she’s got a screw loose. Listen, Lou, you can’t many Ned Marsden, and you know it. The guy’s no good, and I’ve got proof....”
“What are you talking about?”
