As I pat it gingerly with my hand, I realise it’s not so much a lump as a warm, tightly wrapped package, one I give a little squeeze.
‘Eungh.. .’
A tightly wrapped package of pleasure, judging by the very masculine and rumbly sound it just made.
And then, it speaks.
‘Hen,’ a sleep rumbling voice intones. ‘If you’re gonna touch me, do it under the covers.’
With a scream, I shoot from the bed, fall over my bag, and end up on my bottom, my back pressed uncomfortably against something hard and wooden. My heart beats wildly, the sound echoing in my ears—the thing literally feels like it’s beating out of my rib cage!
‘Oh, my God! W-who are you? What are you doing here?’
‘Jesus, would ya calm down?’ Despite the languid and rumbling tone, and the fact that he sounds like a sleepily sexy Gerard Butler, fear causes me to scramble across the sisal carpeting.
‘Stay away!’ I yell as, in the dark, my back meets something else with a thump—the corner of the wall, I think. I realise I’ve pulled my bag into my lap, though I don’t think I fear being robbed of my straightening irons or my Urban Decay blush. I pull on the zipper, seeking something to defend myself with, and pull out the first thing my hand grasps. ‘Stay the hell away!’
‘Stay away fromyou? You were the one holdin’ my junk, we’re you no’?’
Through my panic, I realise he hasn’t moved from the bed, so a little deeper and a little more menacingly, I add, ‘I warn you, I know joe-jitsu!’ Okay, so as menacing as a five foot five squeaky sweater-less girl can be when facing a stranger in the dark.
‘Joe jitsu? Would that be the wee Chinese man who owns the chipper in the village?’
‘W-what?’
‘Joe, the owner of the fish and chip shop? Unless, of course, you mean you knowju-jitsu.’ He sounds amused. Maybe he’s one of those psychotic serial killer types?
‘That’s the one,’ I return, brandishing my straightening irons like a sword in the dark.
As something scuffs against the wood, I take the opportunity to hurl myself in the direction of the stairs, bum first. But as I reach the dim glow of the stair lighting, I realise my plan might not be the best of ideas because I’m mere inches from breaking my neck. Which, let’s face it, isn’t exactly preferable over robbery. Or rape. The blood in my veins suddenly turns ice cold.
‘I said stay away!’ I yell, sprawled across the floor, still waving my weapon in front of me. It’s just a pity they weren’t plugged into a socket because, as any girl would tell you, nothing’s more painful than catching your ear with the things. They’re like a perfect implement of torture.
If you don’t tell me where the next terrorist attack is, my friend here will straight iron your dangly bits!That has to be a more effective threat than that of waterboarding. Maybe I missed my calling. Maybe I should’ve gone into the armed forces, though camo does nothing for my colouring.
Then the light comes on.
‘That’s no’ exactly a light sabre, is it, hen?’
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, there’s a supermodel in my bed.
Why is my heart beating faster?
Only, at second glance, he’s a little too rugged and a little too large to be a catwalk model. He could do editorial easily. There’s a touch of David Gandy about him. I let my eyes roam over him just to be sure. And there’s a lot to see, though not everything is on display. The duvet offers him a modicum of modesty, draped around his waist as it is, revealing a tanned and muscled torso you only ever see in the gym. He has abs like a ladder, seriously, bisected by a trail of downy hair that disappears under the white sheets.
A fitness model, maybe.
Broad shoulders and solid pecs, the man is broad and buff and. . . and a little full of himself, judging by his smirk. I mean, I imagine choosing a life of crime must make any man, or woman, a little brazen, but the look on his face right now? Cocky doesn’t even cover it. But at least he doesn’t appear so intimidating in the light.
Don’t be ridiculous—get frightened! A crim is a crim no matter how good looking.
And his package—the thing I felt under my hand—won’t be any smaller in the light.. .
Please, God, if I’m good, can you get him to flash me before he ties me up and robs me?
Or maybe he could just tie me up? A little light bondage might—
‘The socket is over there.’ He tilts his head in the direction of a claw-footed bath under the window, smirk still firmly in place.A bath in the bedroom?Not that I’m paying a great deal of attention to my surroundings. I’m too busy staring at the solitary dimple in his cheek.
