He tilted his head, grinning.
“Not mad. Drunk. I thought you said you knew British slang?”
“I do. I just…” I answered, trailing off. I was annoyed that I couldn’t feel my face and probably sounded like a drunken idiot. I should have just gone back to Darren’s townhouse.
“You really need to stop doing this. I can assure you, they are where they're supposed to be.”
He pulled my hand away from my mouth again.
“I can’t feel them,” I complained. “Stop laughing at me. Now I’m pissed.”
“So now you’re drunk?” He folded his arms, raising an eyebrow.
“What? No. I’m pissed. You know what I mean.”
Am I not making sense? Stupid alcohol.
“Oddly enough I do,” he said, stroking my cheek. “Why are you upset with me?”
“For starters, you were late. Then you were snippy with that guy at the bar. And now, this whole walking away with no explanation.”
“Is that all?”
“Yeah, I guess—”
He planted a lush, wet kiss squarely on my mouth. It was quick and chaste but enough to set off a spark.
“Good. Want to get out of here?”
“This office?” A noticeable tingle buzzed through the numbness, tickling the outer edges of my lips.
“This place in general. I never liked it here.”
“And go where?”
He shrugged, grabbing my hand. Walking somewhat slower than a sloth in molasses, we made our way toward the lounge.
“You don’t like many things, do you?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you don’t like soccer, but you went to the game. And now, this place. Is there anything you do like?”
He remained quiet until we got back to the table. His only response was a quick squeeze of my hand before pulling out a chair for me to sit.
“Look what we have here,” Brent announced, capturing everyone’s attention. “The elusive Alastair Holden has graced us with his presence this evening for more than his requisite ten minutes.”
I did not like the tone of that guy’s voice. Alastair lowered himself onto the chair next to mine, never taking his eyes off him.
“Center of attention as usual, Garrison?” he responded smoothly.
“Don’t be jealous, Holden. You can’t have all the attention and all the…” he paused, glancing at me, seeming to reconsider his thoughts. “I’ll give my sister your regards when I talk to her this week. She’s looking forward to reuniting with you at your grandfather’s retirement party.”
“I didn’t know she was invited,” he said, in a menacingly calm voice.
“She’s quite excited to see you. Keeps mentioning how much it would mean to her if the two of you—”
“That’s enough, Brent.”
I could feel the anger and tension seeping out of Alastair’s pores. The room no longer had a defined horizon. Everything swayed and rolled as I let Brent’s words snake through my mind. When I looked around the table it hit me that Stephanie wasn’t there. Neither was Darren. I have to leave. I have to get away from this.
I stood up too quickly, sending the room into a rapid spin.
“Careful,” Alastair said, rising to help steady me. “Let’s go. You okay to walk?”
“I don’t know where Stephanie is. I can’t just leave.”
“She’s over there. Come on.”
I was finally able to make out where Stephanie was standing as we got closer. She was still talking to Cassie. Her face lit up when she saw me.
“Oh my gosh, you’ll never guess,” she exclaimed.
“What?”
“Cassie is the manager of the graphic design team and wants to see some of my work.”
“That’s great, Steph.” Warmth and happiness filled me from seeing her so excited.
“Y’all look like you’re leaving. Where are you off to?”
“Just out for a drive,” Alastair answered. “No need to worry. Have Darren text me when you’re back at his flat and I’ll drop Lia off then.”
Stephanie scrutinized him. Great. She had that over-protective-friend look on her face.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Go find out more about this job and fill me in later.”
“Keep your phone on,” she said, raising an eyebrow, before rejoining Cassie.
A blast of chilly night air gave me a brief dose of renewed energy when we walked outside. My brain was still much too cloudy from all the martinis though. I was surprised when Alastair bypassed the valet and went straight for an idling Mercedes SUV. What are the odds this is the one I practically fell onto last week?
I climbed in as gracefully as I could, settling into the soft, leather seat. Alastair climbed in next to me.
“Paxton, this is Lia.”
The driver turned and smiled at me. Yep. It’s the same guy from last week.
“Nice to see you, miss. Where to Alastair?”
“The cottage, please.”
Unable to fight off the boozy fatigue, I rested my head on Alastair’s shoulder for what felt like a split second.
He nudged me gently, waking me up. “We’re here.”
I sat up, looking out the window. He got out of the car and offered me his hand. I stepped onto the ground, my heels sinking into the soft earth. It was dark and quiet, with no discernible landscape. But, oh, when I looked up. The sky was a swirl of onyx and fluorite with bright stars dancing through it. I’d never seen anything like it, not even as a child at the science museum. The dark expanse was huge, stretching far and wide. Staring at it filled me with an even greater serenity than I’d felt last night on the terrace.
“Come inside,” Alastair whispered, holding my hand. He led me toward a small, two-story thatched cottage. The dark wooden front door creaked as he opened it. Once inside, I immediately felt at home. Soft lights glowed from the end tables as Alastair walked through, flipping switches.
“Make yourself comfortable.” He pointed to one of the crimson couches. “I’m going to get you some water.”
I kicked off my heels and scrunched my toes in the plush throw rug before sitting down. I heard him moving around in the kitchen, opening the refrigerator. A few moments later he handed me the bottled water.
“Is this where you live?” I asked, watching him settle onto the couch next to me.
“No. It’s just where I come when I want to get away.”
I nodded, sipping the water. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was from all the martinis. My lips were still mysteriously among the missing though. Being in this cottage had a soothing, calming effect on me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it just felt…right.
“What are you thinking about?”
The look in his eyes made me melt. There was no veil, no hard edge, which had been there earlier. They were soft, almost gentle.
“What was all that with Brent before? Why was he being such an ass?”
“That’s just the way he is,” he said, stiffening.
“Are you dating his sister?” I pushed the words out in one rushed breath.
“No.”
He looked me dead in the eye, not flinching. His stare tore through me the same way it always did, only this time I didn’t want it to stop.
Tilting his head, he leaned closer. The parts of me that weren’t numb from alcohol shivered in anticipation. Swallowing hard, he backed away. I unclenched my hands, not even realizing I’d fisted them. He didn’t want to kiss me. I should be relieved.
Keeping my eyes downcast, I fidgeted with my dress. I felt his hand run over my shoulder and down my arm. His touch was incredible but I had to keep a level head. A one-night stand was the last thing I needed, especially after having so many drinks.
The constant touch of his skin on mine did nothing to help convince me otherwise.
“You’ve successfully lured me to your house, Holden. What do you plan to do now?”
Oh no. The alcohol speak
s.
He tilted my chin up so our mouths were just about touching. “Nothing, Amelia. Not this way.”
The logical side of my brain was satisfied with his answer. The drunk part? Not so much. Getting a handle on my breathing was difficult. The fact that he was now stroking my cheek and staring at me with such yearning made it nearly impossible.
That mouth. I wanted it on me.
I’m loaded. This isn’t smart.
“Maybe you should just take me back to Darren’s place. It’s late and I have an early—“
Pressing his mouth to mine, he stopped my rambling. I inhaled his warm breath in shock. Tangling his fingers through my hair, he pulled gently. I leaned my head back, gasping. With stormy restraint, he took advantage and slid his tongue past my lips, kissing me slowly and deeply. My mind went blank. I was lightheaded, unaware of anything but him.
Caressing his face, I ran my fingers over his cheeks and jaw. He groaned, kissing me harder, setting my blood on fire.
Abandoning my trepidations, I straddled his lap. Grasping my lower back, his fingers dug into my skin. I shoved my hands in his hair, pulling it and slanting his head so I could fully taste him. His moan was low and sexy, reverberating through me.
His body stiffened as he fisted his hand in my hair, trying to regain control. I relaxed my grip and surrendered to him.
“We have to stop,” he rasped against my lips.
“Why?”
His chest heaved and fell as he sighed. My mind and sense of logic were wrapped in a boozy blanket, obscuring any distinction between stop-it-now and this-feels-good-keep-going.
The alcohol won again. I kissed him greedily. He was too good not to. I got a rush from how he savored me with the long slow strokes of his tongue. Lust throbbed ferociously through my body. No man had ever gotten me this hot and bothered with just a kiss.
Working fast, I pulled up his shirt, scratching my nails down his chest. His muscles twitched and contracted under my touch. He brushed my hair back, cupped my jaw and pulled his mouth away.
“Don’t,” he said rather unconvincingly.
“I want to.”
His quiet moan drove me wild. My hand disappeared into the thick, dark red softness of his hair.
“No, Lia.” His eyes hardened in a determined stare.
He was rejecting me? Everything spun wildly. I broke out into a cold sweat as my vision tripled and stomach churned. Seconds later it rolled again as nausea spread through my body. No, no, no.
CHAPTER SIX
I could count on one hand how many times I’d been sick from drinking too much. This was going down as the most mortifying one in history. My entire body lurched as all the minty martinis flew out into the toilet. At least I had enough presence of mind to flush it immediately.
Disgusted with myself, I rested my head on my arm to quiet the pounding.
This is attractive. I bet he loves having drunk girls on their knees in front of the toilet.
Someone gathered my hair into a low ponytail.
Oh my God. Please don't let me puke with him kneeling beside me.
Too late. Another horrific wave of nausea overtook my body. Alastair knelt quietly beside me, stroking my back. I prayed to the gods of porcelain thrones to keep his clothes free from any splashback. When it seemed I’d completely emptied my stomach, I slumped against the wall and whimpered.
"Don't move. I'll be right back," he said.
Where else could I possibly go? I cradled my head in my hands. What a disaster. A few minutes later Alastair walked back in carrying a toothbrush, a washcloth and the bottle of water.
"Come here." He knelt next to me and pressed the washcloth to my face. "I've run it under cold water. Sorry if it's a bit chilly."
The cool cotton felt good against my flaming skin. Tears flowed down my cheeks in thick streams.
"No tears, love. You've nothing to be ashamed of."
I looked at him through watery eyes. I was so embarrassed. I must look like such an asshole to him.
"Drink this." He handed me the water.
"Thank you."
Alastair tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're welcome. I'll let you finish up in here. Come find me when you're done, alright?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“This.”
Tilting my chin up, he started to say something then stopped. We stared at one another for a couple minutes.
“I’ll be in the bedroom down the hall. Take your time.”
Once he was gone, I stood up and brushed my teeth quickly, then splashed more cold water on my face. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and grimaced.
I walked cautiously into the hall. A nasty headache pounded between my ears. All I wanted to do was lie down. There was light spilling from a nearby room. I staggered toward it, willing the rumbling in my stomach to settle down.
My vision doubled and I had to reach for the doorframe. He was at my side immediately, helping me to the bed. A t-shirt and flannel boxer shorts were folded on the pillow. I wasted no time changing into them. Yanking the dress over my head, I stood with it tangled around my arms. Some of the embellished sequins caught on my lace undergarments.
"Here. Let me help you.” Alastair gingerly loosened the sequins from the lace. As valiant as he was, his fingers did brush against my bra a couple times. One of the sequins was stuck on the lace edge, right at the swell of my breast. I held my breath as he moved deftly to get it off.
“No touching, Holden,” I breathed. He stared hungrily at me and tossed my dress to the side.
“You’re not making it very easy.”
He grabbed the t-shirt and pulled it over my head. Holding out the boxers so I could step into them, he inadvertently brushed my thigh and muttered something incoherently.
"Come. Lie down."
I crawled on the bed and snuggled into the pillows. All I needed was a warm body close by. "Lie down next to me. Please."
Alastair squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed hard. “You need to rest. I’m going to call Darren.”
“No. Stay with me.”
He ran both hands through his hair and looked at the ceiling.
"Please?”
Looking positively torn, his brows knit together in concentration as he climbed on the bed. I moved closer and ran my hand down his chest. He flinched.
“Lia, don’t.”
He took my hand and curled it under my chin, then draped his arm around my waist. I felt so safe, so secure. This was what I craved. I closed my eyes and passed out cold.
* * *
Everything was fuzzy and dim. I peered out from the blankets and tried to make sense of the shadows and shapes on the wall. It wasn’t my bedroom, that’s for sure. Ah, I was in Darren’s townhouse. Bits and pieces of the previous day started creeping back. The train. The cocktail party. The martinis. Oh shit.
These sheets smelled so damn good. Like Alastair. My eyes flew open. The room zigged and zagged when I sat up. This wasn’t Darren’s townhouse. I clutched the fluffy comforter, waiting for my eyes to focus. The bed was empty, so that was a good sign. I looked down, relieved to see I was fully dressed, although the t-shirt was a little too big and I knew for a fact I didn’t own any green plaid boxers. Glowing red digital numbers confidently told me it was nine in the morning. A very weird feeling settled in my bones.
This wasn’t the same room I’d fallen asleep in last night. Panic snaked its way through my veins, trying to derail my attempt at a logical thought process. I stood in the middle of this very well decorated bedroom. It was immaculate, almost too perfect, like a model home used for an open house. What happened to the cozy cottage?
I peeked into hallway. It was dark, except for a sliver of light coming out from beneath a door. I padded down and leaned my ear against it to see if anybody was inside. Soft music was the only thing I heard at first; then, the subtle tapping sounds of fingers hitting a keyboard.
Knocking on the door
, I turned the knob. Alastair looked up from a desk in surprise.
"Good morning. How are you feeling?"
"I don't know. Fine, I guess. My head hurts."
Alastair closed his laptop and folded his hands on the desk. He motioned for me to sit in the oversized gray chair I was leaning against.
"Do you remember much of what happened last night?"
“Some of it. Where am I?” I felt stupid asking it out loud, but what else could I do.
“My house.”
“So, this isn’t that cottage you took me to?”
“No. After you passed out I called Darren. He and Stephanie drove out to get you.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Needless to say, there was a rather heated discussion about your flying home this morning. Stephanie wasn’t too pleased about my offer to let you sleep here and then get you home later in the afternoon. She’s stubborn, that one.”
“Can you blame her? No offense, but you’re practically a stranger and now I’m all alone in a foreign country with you. How the hell did you convince her?”
“With a little help from Darren.”
“He must have likened you to the Pope or something. She would never agree to this unless she was one-hundred-fifty-percent certain—”
“It’s not for you to worry about. Everything is taken care of.”
“You like to interrupt me a lot.” I furrowed my brow, tapping my fingers on the chair.
“I do? Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”
I shrugged, waving my hand in the air to dismiss the notion. I should be more upset with the whole situation, but as crazy and random as all this was, everything still felt…right. I got up and strolled around his home office. The heavy, dark lines of the furniture contrasted greatly with the light walls and cream window treatments. Everything was perfectly in its place. He’s a neat freak, I grinned. I could certainly appreciate someone who liked to have things organized. The room was so smart it wore its windows like wire-rimmed glasses at the tip of its nose.
“How fancy," I said, pointing at his framed diploma hanging on the wall. "Oxford University." I scrutinized it. “What does the ‘R’ stand for?”
“Reid.” He wrinkled his nose.
“Alastair Reid Holden? I like it.”