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Nicole woke up disoriented and afraid. Where was she? What was that roaring sound? Was she near the ocean?
She sat up, shoving her sleep-tangled hair out of her eyes and taking in the large bed and even larger room with its antique furnishings. Her memory came back in a hurry. Reece Collins had come to the flat and kidnapped her from London, bringing her here to his family’s ancestral estate.
She threw the covers off, slipping from the bed and forgetting the floor wasn’t inches away. She fell on her butt, laughing out loud. She hadn’t fallen out of bed since she was five years old.
She climbed to her knees, rubbing her offended backside. Where did her jeans get to? She remembered kicking them off after she couldn’t get comfortable. She’d stripped down to her shirt and panties, quickly falling back into a contented sleep. Now she had to locate her pants to be ready when Reece came to get her.
She discovered her jeans, inside out, at the foot of the bed. She reached to straighten them, stumping her toe on the bedpost. “God bless America and all the ships at sea,” she swore. She was hopping around on one foot, cursing at the top of her lungs, while her panties were riding up, becoming an uncomfortable thong.
She didn’t hear the knock at the door or notice Reece standing with his head tilted to the side as he leaned against the doorjamb, watching her dance around.
Nicole spun toward the door, her offended appendage still in her hands. Her eyes widened when she discovered her captive audience. “Oh my God, I thought you Brits had better manners than to come into a girl’s room without knocking.”
He chuckled. “I did knock, but I suppose you were too busy doing your exotic dance to answer.”
She stopped hopping, lowering her sore foot to the floor. “It’s not an exotic dance; it’s a ‘Shit I just stumped my toe hard and it hurts’ dance. Don’t you know the difference?” She flushed in embarrassment.
“No, sorry, can’t say that I do.” He waved to her apparel. “Do you need help with anything?”
She wanted to cover her practically bare backside. “Are you asking if you can correct my wedgie?”
“No, but I can if you want me to.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“Get out of here, Reece Collins. I’m not decently dressed and should not be entertaining young gentlemen in my boudoir.” She pointed at the door.
He smiled, hooking his ankle across the other. “Ooh, someone has been transported back in time. Where are we, the early nineteenth century?”
“No, we’re still in the twenty-first, but I didn’t invite you in.”
“It didn’t seem to bother you yesterday.”
“How do you know? I asked you to leave my bedroom and you wouldn’t—the same as now.”
He chuckled, finding great enjoyment in the situation. “I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what?”
“All discombobulated.” He watched as she pressed her lips together, forcefully exhaling. “You’re breathing hard, and your face is getting red. Easy, little bull, don’t attack me.”
Nicole stomped her foot in frustration. “You’re being difficult.” Her toe throbbed at the added assault.
His smile kept growing wider. “I’m having fun.”
“Do you get some perverse pleasure in thwarting me?”
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please turn around, so I can pick this fabric out of the crack of my butt. It’s not conducive to intelligent conversation.”
He turned on his heel, facing into the hall. He heard a quick ‘ahhh’ as she must have situated the fabric correctly. “Is it safe to turn back now? I wouldn’t want to offend your maidenly sensibilities more than I already have.”
She stuck her tongue out, and he caught her at it as he spun back. She hastily pulled it inside her mouth, pressing her lips together.
“Don’t stick it out unless you intend to use it.”
Her mouth dropped open. “That’s an American saying.”
He grinned. “I just adopted it.”
