Chapter One
London
There were very few acceptable reasons to be woken up in the early hours of the morning after a heavy night before, and the shrill blare of my work phone was not one of them. I waved an arm, reaching for my bedside table, only to meet empty air. Oh. I wasn’t at home. I squinted through the gloom to look at the man gently snoring beside me, out cold despite the unwelcome noise. Yes, he was just as hot as I remembered. Stylish and expensively well-manicured, with a slick Bermondsey flat overlooking the Thames, he was the sort of boy any rational, red-blooded girl who was into men would be happy to take home. He’d been a perfect gentleman too, right up until the point I’d told him not to be. And although I was certain names had been exchanged at some point, in these murky morning hours, his was escaping my memory. It was something classic like James or Joshua. Jonathan?
My phone buzzed again from somewhere in the room and my senses sharpened. Sliding out of bed so as not to wake … Jim? I followed the subdued glow of my phone, skin pimpling in the cool morning air. Tripping over hastily discarded clothes from the night before, I found my phone lurking underneath what felt like a very expensive rug.
Lin Temper calling.
Of course. 6 a.m. on a Saturday and my boss had something so pressing it couldn’t wait until Monday. Definitely not the done thing to answer her completely naked, so I muted the call and cast about for my clothes. I soon found my knickers, bra and camisole in a little pile in the center of the room and quickly pulled them on, but my jeans were not with them and so I patted around on the floor.
I glimpsed something under the bed, and I crawled commando style towards it in a desperate bid not to disturb the man sleeping above me, only to find the shadow under the bed wasn’t my jeans but his Valentino shirt smeared with my lipstick. Just as I tried to edge back out, my phone buzzed yet again and in my haste to silence it, I whacked my head on the solid iron bed frame, letting out a pained curse.
“Lucie?” Two feet hit the floor and the light clicked on.
Shit.I lowered my throbbing head to the ground, acutely aware of the fact that my bare legs and knickers-clad bum were sticking out from under his bed. “Morning.”
More footsteps. “Looking for these?”
I scooted out and sheepishly rose to my feet, my torso covered in dust bunnies. There he was – Jake? – clad just in his boxer shorts, showing off a suspiciously deep tan for March in England. He handed me my jeans with a curious smile. “You all right?”
I pulled on my jeans as my phone continued to buzz from the floor by my feet. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
He stifled a yawn. “Yes, someone yellingchuffin’ hellat the crack of dawn will do that.”
I grabbed my phone off the floor. Lin had so far called four times and there was what looked like six text messages waiting. “Sorry. I banged my head.”
He chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ve been woken by far worse,” heassured me, then considered what he’d just said. “That doesn’t make me sound good, does it?”
“I am now questioning what you get up to on a standard night out,” I said.
“What happens on a rugby tour stays on a rugby tour,” he said with an impish grin. “I’m a massive fan of the game. Union, of course, not league.”
I frowned. “There’s a difference?”
“Now, that’s adorable,” he said, pulling on sweatpants.
“Um, thanks?” I wasn’t sure if I was being patronized at this point, but I thought politeness was the best response either way.
“Coffee?” He was out of the bedroom door, still chuckling to himself.
“I’m not sure I …” My voice trailed off as I glanced down the messages from Lin.
Call me
Tristan needs some help
Where are you Lucie FFS
Call me right now my pilates starts in 20 minutes
What on earth are you doing call me rn
I let out a deep breath at the sight of the texts, especially the last one. What might I be doing on a Saturday morning? Aside from attempting an Irish exit from my one-night stand? Sleep? Have a life that didn’t revolve around the whims of pampered film directors? “Seriously … er …” Oh God, what was this guy’s name?
After an agonizing pause, his amused voice filtered through from the other side of the door. “Jack.”
“Jack. Sorry.” The error felt even more humiliating given he’d been inside me mere hours ago.
