Romy Sommer - The Trouble with Mojitos

It seemed all these rich boys were the same; too much money and nothing better to do with their time than party and get wasted. Though to be fair, those with very little money still had the same tendency, as Brett had proved.

It had all seemed so glam when she’d been in her heady twenties, young and impressionable, but she was older and wiser now. There was nothing glamorous about having a man passed out on one’s sofa, no matter who he was.

Tomorrow she’d pretend she knew nothing more than what Rik had told her. He could carry on playing Mystery Man, for all she cared. She wasn’t going to bow and scrape, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let herself be seduced. She was just one bad relationship away from getting thirty cats and calling it quits with men.

She folded up the letter and crossed the room to slide it back into his pocket. Which was definitely not as easy as pulling it out had been.

Job done, she surveyed the sleeping beauty on her sofa. There was a hint of vulnerability in his face that definitely wasn’t there when he was awake. It tugged at something inside her, and she swallowed hard. No, she wasn’t going to try to fix this one. She had to have learned that lesson by now, right?

But she couldn’t in good conscience leave a prince to sleep like a pretzel on the sofa, no matter how much of a pain in the butt he was, or how much he deserved it.

The first and easiest thing she could do for him was to remove his shoes. She unlaced his trainers, braced her knees on the edge of the sofa, and pulled. His shoe slid off, quicker than she expected, the momentum driving her straight onto him, with her knee in his groin.

“Ooph.” Rik’s eyes fluttered, and her heart stopped beating.

His eyelids settled, and she laid a hand over her heart and started to breathe again. He was seriously out of it not to be woken by that .

With much more care, she removed his other trainer, then stood back to survey the scene.

She’d move him to the bed, and she’d take the sofa. She had more chance of fitting on it anyway. Who knew there’d be a perk to being only five foot three?

But getting him onto the bed was an altogether different matter. It had taken two grown men to get him to her room, so how the hell was she going to get him from the sofa to the bed on her own?

She started by wrestling the sofa closer to the bed.

Deep breath in and shove. Deep breath in and shove.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as the sofa inched slowly forwards until, with a jolt, it connected with the side of the bed.

Great. Now what?

She had to climb over the back of the sofa to roll Rik onto the bed. Except he didn’t want to roll. He snuggled back into the sofa cushions.

“Give me a break!”

Since she’d come this far, there was no going back. She wrapped her arms around his torso and heaved. He wasn’t a small man and in sleep he was damned heavy and uncooperative. He was also rather buff. She couldn’t help but notice the firmness of muscle beneath that long black tee. She’d bet anything he had a fine six-pack. For half a second she was tempted to strip off his shirt for a peek. Surely the vow she and Lee had sworn didn’t preclude looking?

No, a promise was a promise.

Besides, she was now hot and sweaty, in spite of the air-con, and wrestling him out of his clothes just wasn’t worth the effort, so she discarded the idea as quickly as it formed. She’d have to be satisfied with having copped a feel.

Rik now lay on the very edge of the bed. She climbed over him to kneel on his other side. One last heave and he’d be safe and comfortable and she could get to sleep herself.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he moaned. Not the same sound he’d made before, but a satisfied purr. Oh heaven help her! If he woke now, there was no way she could explain why she had him in her bed, in a very intimate and compromising position.

She half-pulled, half-rolled with him.

The good news was that she managed to get him away from the edge of the bed. The bad news? She was now pinned underneath him.

And yes, that was definitely a very fine six-pack beneath the shirt. Perhaps even an eight-pack.

Up this close, the smell of rum was more pronounced. On any other man it would have been a complete turn-off. On Rik it just added to the pirate allure.

But he was heavy, and this was neither the right time nor place to get turned on. And most certainly not the right man. She was looking for a nice man, remember? Or better yet, no man at all. Not until she could stand tall, with her head high and say ‘Look at me: I’m a success!’

She wedged her hands against his torso and shoved with all her strength. Rik rolled off her, and she lay breathless, needing a moment to regroup.

Yay! He was now safely on her king-size bed, cuddling into the pillow where she’d slept in such blissful ignorance barely an hour ago.

@KenzieCole101: I need a cold shower.

@LeeHill: @KenzieCole101 What’s up chica? Heat keeping you awake?

@KenzieCole101: @LeeHill Something like that. But I’m behaving. Promise!

Light filtered through Rik’s eyelids and he groaned into his pillow. Whoever had stuck his head in a vice grip then twisted it deserved to die. He’d see to it personally. Just as soon as he could lift his head off the pillow to see who it was.

“Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

The voice was annoyingly perky and not one he recognised. Probably a new housemaid. Where was Robert? It was usually his valet who brought his coffee and the morning papers.

With herculean effort he lifted one eyelid.

Ouch, the light was bright.

He didn’t recognise her face either. And the housemaids didn’t usually wear jeans. He squeezed his eyes shut again, but that was worse. Now the room reeled about him.

It wasn’t a sensation he was used to, but in a sickening instant he knew he was neither dreaming nor ill. He was hungover. And there wasn’t going to be any valet or housemaid, because they belonged to a life that wasn’t his anymore.

“Here drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

Nothing could do that. He’d already tried. Neither time nor distance nor drink could dull the constant ache.

He prised his eyes open. “What is it?”

“A special concoction the concierge cooked up. He swears on his grandmother’s grave it works miracles.”

Rik hoped so. Gingerly, he levered himself up on his elbow and took the glass of foaming green liquid from her outstretched hand. “What’s in it?”

She shrugged. “Local herbs or something.”

Local herbs – who was she kidding? “Isn’t it bad enough you got me drunk? Now you want to get me stoned too?”

“I didn’t get you drunk. You did that all on your own. And I don’t want you stoned either. I want you sober and out of my bed so I can get to work.”

The drink tasted surprisingly minty and though the first sip made him gag, he managed to drink it all down.

“There’s a good boy. Ready to get up now?”

“Ask me in another hour.” He shut his eyes and sagged back into the pillow’s softness. At least the room seemed to have stopped spinning about him. A miracle indeed.

She ripped the duvet off him. “Oh no, you don’t! It’s already ten o’clock and the day is wasting away.”

He pulled the duvet back. “Great, go and enjoy it,” he mumbled into the pillow. “I’ll stay here and sleep it off. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“You’re taking me to see the mayor.”

Why would he do that? He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to remember, but gradually the memories formed anyway … the resort bar, chosen because there were few locals there and little chance he’d be recognised … the pretty firecracker who’d made him smile … the summons from his brother …