Page 50 of Wilder at Heart
There’s something teasing me awake, and as I roll onto my back, I register what it is.
The smell of bacon.
Jesus. It’s like someone hit me over the head and I properly passed out. I feel like I’ve been unconscious for hours and hours.
Wait.Didsomeone hit me over the head?
I wipe a hand down my face. The blurry grey nothingness filling my brain right now starts to clear. Slivers of memories float to the surface.
Nora.
I was already annihilated when she showed up, thanks to sharing a bottle of tequila with the guys at Sexy Fish, an overpriced Asian restaurant on Berkeley Square, before we made it to the club. But she was a fucking vision. That purple dress, clinging to her tits and flaunting her beautiful skin. Her eyes, massive. Her hair, all flicked out and sexy and come-to-bed. And when I got a feel of the flawless skin of her bare back, I was a goner.
Holy shit, we?—
Wereallywent for it in that club. Our kiss plays like split-second clips from a movie.
My fingers digging into her arse, tugging her as tightly against me as I could.
Her riding my leg as I devoured her mouth.
The delicious taste of her.
The heat of her against my thigh.
And best of all, herhunger. She was as into it as I was. I swear to God she was.
And I fucking blew it. I pinch the bridge of my nose and groan as it hits me just how much I blew it. Making it to the gents’ just in time to empty that bottle of very expensive tequila down the loo. What the fuck was I thinking, eating sashimi for supper? Alcohol management one-oh-one, man.
Jesus.
The rest of the night is coming back to me now, in excruciating flashes.
Nora standing worriedly outside the gents’ when I finally stumbled back out into the club.
Taking me home in a cab, my head hanging out of the open window like a bloody dog to keep me from hurling again.
Putting me to bed, for Chrissakes, and not in the way I wanted. I think I begged her to stay. Told her I wanted to fuck her into next week.
Yep, I did. She laughed at me. Not unkindly, more like I was a delusional toddler who hadn’t got the bedtime memo.
Fucking hell. She was so up for it—we were both so turned on, and I sabotaged myself. I had a beautiful woman in my arms, who seemed to want me as much as I wanted her, and I flushed my chance to get her into my bed down that fucking toilet. My morning wood twitches indignantly.
Yeah, mate.
I know.
Ugh. I roll over and bury my face in my pillow, but it’s too warm. I’m overheating. I need some fresh air. And to getsome food down me. I throw off my duvet and pad into the bathroom. And stand like a zombie under a cold shower with my toothbrush hanging from my mouth.
When I emerge from my room in a pair of running shorts, Nora’s sitting at the island, digging into what must be a bacon sandwich, judging from the smell.
She’s a sight for sore eyes in a white vest and what look from here like denim cutoffs, her long, gorgeous hair still all flicked out and bouncy around her shoulders. She eyes me nervously.
‘Hey.’ I hold my hand up sheepishly.
‘Hi.’ She points. ‘There’s a bacon sarnie for you, if you can handle it.’
‘Hell, yes.’ I start towards the island.
