In my fevered memories, as I inhale his masculine scent, feel the warmth of his skin, and absorb the adoration of his gaze, nothing could be further from the truth. He’s every bit as sexy. No, he’s more. Much more. And there’s a quiet reserve about him that I find reassuring. My gaze wanders downward.
The sheets from the bed where we slept are bunched near his waist, covering his legs and revealing his defined torso, broad shoulders, and still higher, the most mesmerizing shining green stare. His dirty blond hair is tousled in a sensual morning way, making my fingers itch to comb through his locks. His cheeks are high as his smile broadens. His strong chiseled jaw is covered in a day’s overgrowth of blond.
If I didn’t remember his name and our meeting—or at least the beginning of it—I wouldn’t know he’s my best friend’s future brother-in-law.
If that were the case, I wouldn’t realize that on the morning of my best friend’s wedding, I’m waking in the bed of a man I met merely hours ago, with a terrible headache and more questions than answers.
Tentatively, I sigh and scoot up the large king-sized bed toward the headboard. As I do, I notice the clothes I’m wearing. They are clothes, but not completely mine. In place of a nightgown, I’m wearing a large button-down man’s shirt and yes, my own panties.
At least I’m not nude.
The problem is that I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. I need the entire film. It wasn’t the director who cut out important scenes, leaving them lying upon the editing-room floor, but Fireball. Trevor’s cinnamon scent. Some of the memories are coming back. The problem is that they lack chronological order, creating a puzzle without shape. I can’t see the whole picture.
“Trevor?” I ask, suddenly unsure if I can handle the truth. “Do you think we could get some coffee?”
His grin grows. “I already called. Room service is on its way.”
“I’m a big hot chocolate fan, but right now, I think coffee sounds best.”
“Anything else, my lady?”
I sigh again, dropping my gaze to my hands that are neatly folded on my lap. Looking back up through my lashes, I confess, “At the risk of injuring your self-confidence, can you tell me about last night?”
“Are you asking for a story?”
“I’m asking for the truth.”
Chapter Two
Shana
Trevor hands me a bottle of red Gatorade after untwisting the cap. “Here you go. While you were still sleeping, I went to the store off the lobby and bought you this.” He shrugs. “I hope you like red. It’s my favorite after a little too much to drink.”
“You didn’t happen to find something for a headache, did you? I’m going to be a terrible maid of honor.”
From the bedside stand he grasps a small packet of over-the-counter pain relievers. “Before you’re too hard on yourself, you only had three shots.”
“Three?” Why does it feel like I drank the whole bottle?
“Three,” he repeats before he shrugs. “Or four. How about you tell me what you remember?”
After a long drink of the Gatorade and swallowing the pain relievers, I lean back against the headboard and begin to recall. “My flight was delayed...”
I go on sipping the Gatorade and talking about my misfortunes while traveling from London, where I now live and work, to Indiana for Kimbra’s wedding. It wasn’t getting to the United States that was the problem, but getting from New York to Indiana. The direct flight was cancelled due to mechanical issues. After much pleading, I was put on a standby flight with one stop. Despite little to no sleep, I still made it to Indianapolis with two hours to spare for the rehearsal.
“You weren’t at the rehearsal,” I say, remembering the scene.
“No. Duncan asked me to be in the wedding, but I’m not the greatest brother.”
“Really? You’re here. Didn’t you want to be in it?”
He shakes his head. “I did. And I’m here. It was that when the big event was being planned, I wasn’t sure I would be.” His eyes grow large. “It isn’t because I’m not happy for them. I am. Kimbra’s the best thing to happen to my brother, ever. It’s that I’m working on a huge project in Washington.” He waves his hand. “The details aren’t that important, but there’ve been a few issues with construction. The project is behind schedule, and I was afraid that if I took too much time away, the foreman might be tempted to cut corners to speed things up. Let’s just say, that wouldn’t be good for anyone.”
“So you’re not in the wedding?”
“No. But Duncan understands work. He wasn’t upset. I told him I’d be here. I haven’t seen him yet, since I just arrived after ten last night.”
I try to think back. “The bar.” It was a revelation as well as the opening to my faded memories.
“You remember the bar?”
Slowly, I nod as a knock upon the entrance door echoes through his suite.
Trevor stands, the sheets falling away to reveal loose-fitting basketball shorts, hanging low on his hips, his trim waist disappearing in a V, and long muscular legs.
My bottom lip slips under my front teeth as I imagine what is not well hidden under the shorts and the way those legs would feel surrounding me. How could I know and not remember?
“Trevor?” I ask as he starts to move toward the door.
“Hmm?”
“We didn’t... we didn’t...” I can’t completely finish the sentence. One-night stands aren’t my thing. I mean, they never were. I’m a third-date girl. And since moving to London, I’ve been a not-in-a-million-years girl.
I love my job, but it’s been all-consuming. I’m a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue, overseeing the Junior line. The job title is everything I’ve ever wanted, and so is the responsibility. I love the excitement of a runway show and the anticipation of next season’s fashions. It’s the schedule that is daunting. I’ve dated a few different men since I moved across the pond, and if I am completely honest, it’s usually their accent that hooks me or the way they use different words.
“We’ll take the lift…” Or... “Shall we put your bag in the boot?” Yes. I crack a smile every time. The first time someone asked, I wondered how my bag would fit in a boot and why I’d want it there. The language idiosyncrasies are a never-ending source of my amusement. Lovely has become my favorite adjective. “I had a lovely time.” “It was simply lovely.”
Nevertheless, even with the cute phrases, the attraction doesn’t last—at least it hasn’t. There hasn’t been a spark with any of those men, not like the one I’m feeling right now.
Maybe it’s the Gatorade or my undeniable attraction; however, just talking with Trevor, I’m beginning to feel better than I did when I woke.
“Did we?”
His head tilts in the most adorable way as he grins my direction. “Your coffee awaits, my lady. Then I’ll tell you my story.”
As he goes toward the door, I make my way out of the bed and hurry to the bathroom, my mind filling with scenes and more questions. After closing the door, I take a deep breath and turn on the light. Even through squinty eyes, the reflection in the mirror isn’t nearly as bad as I expected. My blonde hair is a wavy mess, and my blue eyes have a bit of red, but it isn’t anything that can’t be fixed with a brush and a few eye drops. I quickly splash water on my face and reach for a toothbrush.