Page 5 of RomeAntically Challenged
Sweaty and overheated, she closed her eyes and let her hands dangle toward the floor. “What is up with my luck?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question. In fact, I’ll give you twenty bucks if you promise not to stop,” an unexpected male voice said—from inside her house!
A lump of terror materialized in her throat as every horror movie Annie had ever watched came rushing back.
Telling herself it was still Clark on the phone, she opened her eyes and squeaked.
A big, broad figure loomed behind her—in her bedroom doorway. Even from her upside-down between-the-legs view, he looked mean and menacing, and very ax-murderer-esque.
Her heart pounding as if it were going to shake apart, she gripped her stiletto and whirled around. As a weapon, it wasn’t quite as lethal as she’d like, but she leveled him with her most intimidating glare. A glare, Clark had said, that could scare small children, ward off vampires, and cause even the most impatient of patients to take a seat.
Clearly, ax murderers were immune. Or hers was, because he lifted a single brow and she swallowed—hard.
Huh. Simple, but effective.
“Who the hell are you?” She took in his bare chest, boxers, and bedhead—no sign of the ax. “And why are you sleeping in my bed?”
His eyes took in her attire while his lips kicked into a crooked smile. “I was about to ask you the same thing, Goldilocks.”
Chapter 3
Emmitt Bradley was exactly two days out from a three-week stint in Shenzhen’s finest ICU, and already he was experiencing some disturbing symptoms. Hallucinations being the most concerning.
She was certainly the sexiest little hallucination he’d ever conjured. He’d take it over the blinding headaches any day. Hell, maybe he was still overseas, and waking up to find nothing but cream lace and toned skin traipsing around his house could be some kind of medically induced wet dream.
No, he remembered the explosion, the crushing force of the blast that had leveled both him and the subbasement of the concrete factory he’d been covering. The ride to the hospital and following few weeks were a bit fuzzy, but the cold sweats and stabbing pain as the cabin pressurized on his flight home would be forever branded into his memory.
The doctor had warned him about flying before he was ready. Even gave him a strict list of things to avoid upon being discharged:
Work.
Whims.
Whisky.
Women.
Okay, the last had been his addition, because without bossy women he wouldn’t be sidelined while someone else covered his story. Something he didn’t want to talk about just yet, which was why he’d kept his homecoming on the down-low.
Maybe he’d gone to the local bar and invited some barfly back to see if his bed was too big, too small, or just right. In his condition it was doubtful, but not out of the realm of possibility.
He sized her up with a single glance. Nah, a woman who looked like this one didn’t hang around the Crow’s Nest looking for one-night flings. And guys like Emmitt never offered more.
He was back to the coma theory. And if there was one thing Emmitt knew how to do better than anyone, it was testing a theory.
“Normally, I’d say the more the merrier.” He ran a hand through his hair and—damn—even his follicles hurt. “But tonight’s not good for me.”
Her fear was immediately replaced with contempt. “I’m so sorry to intrude on your precious man-time,” she said, then slung her heel at his head. “Now, get out!”
“Jesus.” He ducked, because hallucination or not, that thing looked dangerous. Bright red, pointy toed, and sharp enough to pierce steel, or—he looked up at the spot on the wall where his head had been two seconds earlier—wedge itself into sheetrock.
“Seriously, who put you up to this?” he asked.
“What?”
“It was Levi, wasn’t it? All self-righteous about dating, telling me my luck was bound to run out and I’d end up attracting one of those Crazy Cuties.” He took his time giving her another once-over, paying extra-special attention to her panties—cheeky cut, if he were a betting man. “You don’t look like one of those. But I’ve been wrong before.”
“Crazy?” She snatched the remote control off the coffee table.
