Page 59 of A Colourful Country Escape
‘I want more, Ben.’
He was groaning in agreement, his hands moving over her curves. Urgent. Emboldened. Seriously bloody hot.
‘Hotel,’ she managed to squeak, the possibilities already raging through her imagination like wild, uncontrollable beasts.
‘Anything.’ His voice was now so husky he was barely intelligible.
‘Be careful what you wish for,’ she murmured back.
Chapter 30
Lexie awoke with a start. It was still dark, and yet it felt like morning. Her head was – dizzy? She spread her limbs out around her. She was in a bed. It wasn’t hers, although the room felt familiar. Of course, her hotel bed. She was still in London. And she was alone.
Actually, no, that was wrong. Because something was there with her. It felt hot and heavy, and it was sending her into a panic. Oh God, what was that? It was so weighty it made her want to hide under the duvet and cry. She shuddered, as though alcohol was trying to escape her body in great surges. Oh bollocks.
It wasshame.
That horrible, post-drunken sensation when she was sure something reckless had happened, but she couldn’t fathom what.
She flicked through her memories of the night before. Ben. A nice restaurant. Then being high up in the Shard. Cocktails, more cocktails. Oh hell. She hung her head over the side of the bed and dry heaved.
She spied her boots on the floor, and her dress neatly folded on the chair next to them. Odd. She was not a tidy drunk. And what was that scrap of paper? She pinched it towards her.
Open your petals to the… oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph on a trike. Zoltar. A darkened shop. A pretty steamy taxi ride home. What had she done?
Her hands ran over her body. OK, she was still wearing underwear. Her matching good set, at that. And her tights. Phew. She would not have opened her petals to anyone’s sun and then faffed around climbing back into her ten-deniers.
Anyone. Who was she trying to kid? There was only one person who made her feel like tearing off her tights these days. The same person she had inadvertently dressed for in her lacy black undies, long before any of those cheeky cocktails had passed her willing lips. Ben Carrington. Her rich and unattainable boss.
Because she’d known he was unattainable. To her, at least. And she hadn’t even admitted to herself that she had had any designs on attaining him. And yet the lace did not lie. And neither did her ‘Shakira, Shakira’ hips in the rear of Sinbad’s shop, for that matter. Hell, if her hips had had their own way, they’d have a certain man clamped between them right now, instead of a ridiculously uncomfortable thong. She eased herself back under the covers and groaned into her hands. Oh God, what had she done? What exactly had happened after ‘try not to be too indecent in the back of a taxi’-gate, and where was Ben now? Had she completely disgraced herself? Had he run for his life?
There was only one human-shaped dent in the bed, and the sheets didn’t smell like him. But her skin did. His woody aftershave against her neck. His lips, his … Urgh, she had to get out of this bed before she had any more indecent thoughts. She needed a shower to wash off this mess. Whatever this mess actually was.
She climbed gingerly from the bed, her head pounding like the inside of some terrible disco. Waiting a moment for the furniture to stop moving, she swayed towards the bathroom in search of water. There was a glass next to her bed, but it was nearly empty. Who had put that there? The inebriated Lexie she knew would not have organised herself so well. Had Ben been here? Was that his scent she could smell in the air? She wished she could just remember.
As she fiddled with the taps in the bathroom, she heard some commotion at the door of her room. A rattling? A knocking? Maybe she had drunkenly ordered room-service breakfast on her way through Reception last night. Arranging hangover food did sound like something wasted Lexie would do. Where was that complimentary dressing gown?
She inched her way back to the bedroom. ‘All right, all right!’ Why did people have to make such a noise? She stopped to steady herself, the room still spinning.
‘Lexie?’
How was the door opening by itself? And why did it know her name? Before she could work out the answers to life’s conundrums, a shape appeared, weighed down by two bags.
‘Ben? Jeez, I’m nearly naked! What are you doing here? And shut the bloody door.’
She grabbed the nearest piece of material to cover herself. It was a discarded hand towel splodged in last night’s makeup; it was not hiding much.
‘I just took the key to go and get you breakfast. I was worried you might die without sustenance.’ He shrugged as though it was obvious, and closed the door behind him.
‘So you … stayed?’ She turned back to the bed to count the dents again – just one – had they slept in it together?
Then she squeaked, realising she was revealing her thong-clad rear to him, covered in barely-there tights. She turned back to face him, squirming behind the towel.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve already seen the show.’ He pointed to her not-much-of-an outfit. ‘You were very insistent I should see your best matching underwear before … ’ He looked towards the bathroom.
What the hell had happened in the bathroom? Lexie ran a hand through her scruffy hair.
‘Look, I can’t remember much. Past the … taxi stuff.’ She prayed she didn’t have to elaborate.
