Page 1 of So That Happened
1
Connor Preston couldn’t believe his eyes. She was sitting on his bed in the moonlight, brazen as you like, with her slender back curved towards him. One arm propped her up, taking her weight, and her head was dipped, as if she were posing for one of those romance book covers he used to see in the airport newsagents.
He guessed she’d just got out of the shower, because her long blonde hair hung in wet clumps around her shoulders. He watched in irritation as a water droplet ran down the line of her spine before dripping onto his bedspread.
Through his travel-weary eyes she seemed to cast a glow in front of her, as if all the excessive cheeriness she used to force on him day after day radiated from her.
Katherine Meers.
He’d thought he’d finally convinced her it was over between them, but here she was, waiting naked in his bed again, in his holiday home this time. A holiday home that he couldn’t remember ever telling her about. Was nowhere a safe haven from her neediness?
‘What the hell are you doing here, Katherine?’ He knew his voice was gruff and unfriendly – nothing like the laid-back drawl he’d cultivated over the years – but he was tired and grumpy and not in the mood for another showdown with his stalker ex-girlfriend.
But even that didn’t explain the way she reacted.
Her scream was so loud he thought he felt his eardrums perforating. Her whole body jerked in fright and something gleamed momentarily in a wide arc in front of her, before raining down onto the bed with a worryingly loud splat.
Hair flying, she twisted round towards him and he caught a tantalising flash of her pert breasts – which were rather larger than he remembered – before she grabbed a towel, which was lying on the bed, and whipped it around her.
Gazing at her shocked face in the pale glow of the moonlight, he realised he’d made a mistake.
This wasn’t Katherine.
This was an altogether different problem.
* * *
Josie’s heart slammed against her chest as adrenaline ricocheted through her body. After staring at her laptop in the dark for the last ten minutes she had to work hard to get her eyes to focus on the shadowy shape in front of her. She could barely make out the features of the enormous man standing at the foot of the bed, but she’d swear she could feel his anger.
‘What do you want?’ It was a reflex question – one she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer to – and it came out as a shaky whisper.
‘I want my bed.’ His voice was quieter this time, not exactly friendly, but there was a hint of bemusement mixed in with the exasperation.
Confusion engulfed her. Perhaps she was dreaming? The situation was certainly bizarre enough to be one of her dreams.
‘What do you meanyourbed? Who the hell are you? You scared the crap out of me.’
The man took a pace backwards in response to her sharp tone and raised his hands, palms forward, in a show of surrender.
‘Look, I’m sorry for scaring you.’ His voice softened. ‘I thought you were…’ He paused. ‘Someone else.’
Josie’s eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the dark as her night vision improved. She watched as the tension left his body. Perhaps he wasn’t going to attack her, but she inched closer to the bedside lamp just in case, her muscles tight with anxiety.
She was distracted for a moment by the tinny sound of her music, playing through the earphones that had prevented her hearing his approach – which were now lying discarded on the bed.
Wrenching her attention back, she asked, ‘So who are you?’ forcing more authority into her voice this time, in an attempt to take control of the situation.
Perhaps if she could convince him she was in charge he might leave her alone. She’d heard somewhere that when cornered the best type of defence was attack. Although her only actual experience of being attacked was fighting for funding for the business – facing down aggressively assertive venture capitalists – which was not the same thing as a midnight stand-off with a strange man.
‘Connor Preston. I own this place,’ he said.
Josie blew out a small sigh, her heart rate slowing a fraction. Preston. Okay. He must be Abigail’s brother – the wanderer – returning home from a life living off his trust fund. He wasn’t what she’d expected at all. Abigail was the total opposite of her brother: petite and willowy. This man was anything but petite. It was hard to gauge from her position on the bed, but she’d guess he was at least six foot four and built like an ox. Not the sort of vision you wanted to encounter alone in the middle of the night.
‘Who are you?’ The gruff timbre of his voice coming at her through the gloom was unnerving.
She leant across and switched on the bedside light. Yup, he was big, all right, and rugged and unshaven. His dark blond hair looked as if it could do with a cut and his clothes were creased and unkempt. He looked exhausted; his eyes dull with fatigue. Based on what Abigail had told her, she guessed he must be in his early thirties – only a few years older than her – but he looked as though he’d lived through every second of them. He had a strong face – not classically handsome, but definitely arresting. The type of man who would always be noticed, no matter where he was or who he was with.
Her skin prickled as he scrutinised her in return and a hot flush travelled through her body, leaving a sizzling pulse in the most unnerving places.
