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Waking Up In The Wrong Bed
Waking up with Mr. Wrong—quite literally!
When film location scout Ellie Summers sneaks into a colleague’s hotel room with seduction in mind, she’s thrilled by her own daring!
But the smug morning-after glow morphs into red-faced mortification when she wakes in the arms of a total stranger! Ruben Theroux might be fine with the situation, but a flustered Ellie most definitely is not.
Ellie’s only defence against this very attractive guy is to insist they’re friends only—strictly no benefits! But Ruben isn’t a successful businessman for nothing—they’ll be good together, and he’s happy to play dirty to get what he wants....
“I’m so sorry this happened,” she said again, determined to ignore the savage desire rippling through her like some internal beast that refused to be tamed. What kind of depraved animal had she turned into?
“I’m not.”
She hardly heard him as she apologized another ten times, interspersing the phrase with a few more choice words beneath her breath. Clutching the sheet to her with one hand, she put her now freezing hand to her face.
He sat up, resting his weight on one hand behind him, and spoke more forcefully. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to.”
That silenced her for all of a second. “You didn’t have much choice.” She looked across the bed at him. “I seduced you.” The guy had been sound asleep and she’d been stroking him all over. Like everywhere.
His smile burst forth again. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t like I said no.” He chuckled. “And it wasn’t like I was a virgin.”
Well, no, he hadn’t been that. Ellie bit her lips to stop from smiling. He’d had all the moves. And he executed another now—a languorous stretch that drew her attention once more to his completely fit length.
Hell, she had to move away before she did something stupid again. So she stood, taking the sheet with her. She didn’t care about leaving him exposed; he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Whereas all she wanted to do was hide. She tried to wind the sheet around herself, glanced up to see him watching closely— with undisguised amusement and arousal. Man, was he aroused.
“You’re free to take advantage of me anytime you like,” he said softly, lying back down again. “Or you can come back to bed and let me take advantage of you this time.”
Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, NATALIE ANDERSON decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and, boy, is it that! Especially writing romance—it’s the realization of a lifetime dream kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Harlequin romances....
She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website, www.natalie-anderson.com, any time—she’d love to hear from you.
Waking Up In The Wrong Bed
Natalie Anderson
For June—thank you for giving us such a great port in our ground-shuddering storm.
We would have been lost if it weren’t for you.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
SOME wicked time beyond midnight, Ellie darted along the hallways of the luxury lodge in an almost sheer slip. The plush carpet absorbed the rapid beat of her bare feet. The puff of air-conditioning didn’t cool the mad heat blushing her skin. She was on an indulgence mission and, imprisoned by hedonistic—champagne-riddled—impulse, sanity didn’t stand a chance.
She danced down the stairs to the next level, to where she knew he was sleeping. She counted the doors—one, two, three—and opened the next.
But his bedroom was empty. The dim light of an almost moonless night invaded through open curtains, revealing no body-sized lump in the bed. In fact it was so smooth it looked like a perfectly iced cake.
Disappointment dashed her spirits—because she wasn’t hungry for cake. She was starving for something way more meaty than that. She’d gone fun-free for too long. So, inspired by the fabulosity of the location, she’d decided to hell with it and to take what he’d been offering for weeks. Until now she’d parried his flirtatious invites, unsure of his integrity. But here, in this most seductive location, what did anything matter but the moment? And this moment she wanted to enjoy some male, physical, attention. In a place as beautiful as this, surely fantasy could come true?
Yes. Having finally got the courage, she wasn’t going to let fate confound her. Reckless joie de vivre bubbled again and she slipped back out to the hall. Maybe she’d counted wrong, or had the wrong side of the corridor? She pivoted one eighty and counted again. One, two three. Carefully she turned the handle of the fourth door.
Occupied.
Her over-wired senses instantly assimilated the signs—warmth, gentle, regular breathing, a light spiced scent. She quietly closed the door behind her. A couple of steps in she nearly stumbled over the shoe. The size said it all—a man’s boot. This was the one, then.
The ten-inch gap in the curtains let in what light that waning moon threw. A gap that wide had to be deliberate—he must like to see the sun, moon and stars too. Smiling, she blinked to adjust her vision. Then, yes, in the wonderfully huge bed, she could just make out his laid-back shape, right in the centre. His dark hair contrasted against the white pillow, his face turned away from her. Then cloud crossed the moon, dulling the room to nothing but shades of black.
But she crept forward, heated inside and out.
‘Hey,’ she whispered. ‘Are you asleep?’
Dumb question when she could hear the regularity of that breathing for herself.
‘Hey,’ she murmured again as she stretched across the bed, her hand out to touch...skin.
Oh, he was hot.
She snatched her fingers back, suddenly shy. Her heart bashed her ribs as adrenalin flooded, forcing a too-fast beat. She took a second to breathe, because never before had she slipped into the driver’s seat like this. Her throat blocked, she could think of nothing else to say. But sensation—temptation—drove her closer. Despite the goosebumps popping over every inch of her skin, she burned.
She knelt on the bed, boldness returning the closer she got to his heat. Slowly, she slid her hand towards the point where the bed was depressed by the weight of one big, warm male. Her seeking fingers hit the boundary from cool cotton to hot body, but she pushed through her last nervousness, sliding her fingers up and over his hair-roughened skin.
Every cell inside her squeezed. The hit of pure pleasure from that smallest of touches surprised her. She’d not expected such excitement from so little. But perhaps this was about risk as well and she, who’d always been risk averse, was beyond excited already.
In daylight she found him perfectly resistible—they’d never even kissed. It had mainly been talk and suggestion—a way to help pass the boring bits at work. And there’d been more dull moments than anything recently—all paperwork, no perks. She’d hoped for job satisfaction this weekend, knew this was part of why she’d been offered the trip. But this place had her thoughts turning to the personal. Yes, now, up this close to his heat and that scent she’d never before noticed, she couldn’t wait to discover him in this dark night.
His skin was warm, the breadth and obvious strength of his muscles another surprise. Who knew that beneath his customary too-trendy suits was a body of awesome size? Clutching one hand to her chest, she gently swept the other over his stomach, sliding the sheet down as she searched him out. He was completely naked and as a result only one word remained in her brain—amazing.
She was lost in her unrestrained exploration, so it was a few seconds before she sensed the change in him. Then she felt the ripple as, beneath skin, his muscles responded to her touch.
Stimulated.
She was emboldened by those signs, her reach went further, firmer. And her own excitement built as she realised the extent of his. It wasn’t just with her hand that she touched him now. Bending, she pressed her mouth to his thigh. His hands lifted, his fingers thrusting through her hair, gently massaging. So her instinct had been right.
He was awake.
She knelt, lifting a knee across so she straddled him.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Sleep-rusted, hoarse, hungry, his voice sounded strange.
‘Yeah,’ she agreed with a breathy laugh, heart racing at her daring and his rising to the occasion so magnificently. ‘You’re okay with this?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ he repeated with a groan.
She felt his big release of air. Felt his hands firmly curve around her thighs. His fingers stroked over her skin, but with enough strength to keep her there.
He wanted her there.
She closed her eyes, letting her fingers feel him—that hot, stretched skin. Her sensuality exploded, extremely intense. The delight in discovering her recklessness would have such reward made her all the more liberated. In the past she’d been shy sexually—cautious, self-conscious, half afraid of doing something wrong or not being good enough. She’d never have dared this. But none of those feelings came into play now. Under the influence of lush surroundings, rich food and drink, this inky midnight and his rapid response, she simply didn’t care. She felt too heavenly. Scent filled the warm darkness—a mix of the citrus of her shampoo and the spice of his soap. Not his usual aftershave. She guessed it was the guest soap. She made a mental note to find out the brand because it tantalised—encouraging her to taste.
Bending forward again, she brushed her hair over his skin as she kissed across his chest, finding one of his nipples to lick. She ran her hand down his abs. His muscles were rock solid. Hell, all of him was rock solid.
He pushed her shoulders so she sat up. His hands slid over her slip, over her belly to shape her breasts. He suddenly moved, lifting to pull the fabric from her. She raised her arms so he could take it over her head and toss it, she didn’t care where. His hands slipped back to her butt, clutching her close—his touch possessive. She liked it. She also liked the thick part of him that she had one hand around. He stayed strained upwards, so his mouth teased her breasts as his fingers had for those too few delicious seconds before. She trembled—amazed that she could be so close so quick.
‘If I’d known it was going to be like this,’ she muttered hotly, ‘I wouldn’t have held back so long.’
She could have been having sex this good for the last two months—how had she been so blind to this chemistry?
He buried his face harder into her curves. Clutching her closer, kissing down her neck all the more passionately.
All this time her other hand had been curled into a tight fist, and tucked in the middle of that was something she knew they needed—now. She reluctantly let go of him to take the packet in both hands, tearing it open. Then she tried to get the thing to work.
‘You have to help me with this,’ she panted. Her fingers not getting the slippery rubber to roll down right.
He lay back, his hands pushed hers out of the way, but she bent, following the downward stroke of his fingers with her mouth. He hissed a curse—a whisper so stretched with desire it broke.
She laughed, delighted, and lost her last fragment of inhibition. The breathlessness, the haste, the heat, all turned her on to an extreme degree. He seemed to have the same reaction. His erection strained flat against his stomach. She straddled, shifting closer to him, letting her core rest just on the base of him, his tight balls just beneath her butt. She teased them both with tiny squeezes of her muscles, like little kisses from her intimate lips. The hard ridge of him was delicious torment on her sweet spot and grinding against him set her on an even faster track to ecstasy. Oh, yeah, now it was carnal, now it was insane. Never so raw and passionate and quick. He growled and firmly slid his big hand up her thigh, then forced his fingers between their bodies. She moaned, abandoned, as he used his thumb to tease her. He sat up to kiss her breasts again as he toyed with her, circling her rhythmically, occasionally slipping deep. She was dripping with desire, unashamedly writhing as he flicked his fingers, as he licked and kissed up to her neck, then down to her breasts again. Almost at the point of climax she pushed him back, her strength catching him by surprise. A loud smacking sound clapped in the room as she broke the seal of his mouth on her skin. He fell back on the mattress and she held him there with a hard hand on his shoulder.
‘I want to do it,’ she growled, grabbing his rigid length in a wide fist, hovering above him for one moment of ecstatic anticipation.
She gasped as she slid, instinctively clamping tight and twisting down on him. He roared and she felt his muscles flex. She smiled, thrilled he was as turned on as she. He arched uncontrollably again; whatever words he muttered were unintelligible.
She pressed her palms to his big, taut biceps for leverage, for control. Her fingers curled into the solid muscle as she began to ride him. Filled with limitless energy and endurance, she took him deeper and deeper, over and over. He was big and powerful and she loved having him beneath her. Oh, yeah, he was the most incredible ride. Perfect—big enough to fill her ravenous appetite—too big really. But that was exactly what she’d wanted—an extreme experience of pleasure.
His hands cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples between finger and thumb, until—mere seconds later—she lifted and sank on him too fast for him to keep grip, so he swept his palms over her curves, slipping down to her waist, smoothing the sudden slick of sweat over her body. And then his hands spread wide on her thighs, his fingers firmed, holding her soft flesh as tightly as she was gripping his biceps. Suddenly he thrust hard, meeting her in a massive movement. She roared with pleasure then, as the duel for dominance began. Her fingers curled deep into his, pressing down as he pushed up, ratcheting the friction. They drove hard, slamming together faster and faster, each forcing the other to ecstatic abandonment.
‘So good, oh, so good,’ she panted, almost inaudible. ‘Oh, it’s never been so good.’
So good it was only seconds before she came with a harsh, high cry. Only one more before he came hard after.
* * *
Rapid, jerky breathing filled her head—her own and his. Sensual joy surged through her in a final squeeze. If she had the energy she’d laugh. But she was sweaty and breathless and so zapped she was fast sinking into a lax, sleepy mass.
She heard footsteps—the clipping sound of high heels on concrete. A cough, then laughter rising up from the courtyard below the window. She froze. People were still up, still awake. Could have heard... The realization brought reality back with a crash.
The morning after hadn’t been a very much thought-upon part of her plan. Now all the decisions came to her split-second: this would change nothing between them. They’d be colleagues who’d had a carefree kick together one night. That was all. She knew he flirted with every woman he met and that this would mean nothing to him. So it had to mean nothing to her too. She liked to think he’d keep his mouth shut. While in their industry hook-ups were common, this was her first. But she knew it would hardly become notorious news—there were people far more important than her for others to talk about. And she was not going to let this get ugly. It was over already.
She peeled her chest from his, preparing to slide off his body and get back to her own room. But he pulled her back against him. He was stronger than she’d thought he’d be. He was more everything than she’d thought he’d be.
‘Stay.’ A low, sleepy word—but a command none the less. His embrace tightened. Inescapable but so irresistible.
She hadn’t expected this caring comfort either. He rolled them both in a smooth movement, settling them into a sleep position—still devastatingly intimate. The moment of clarity she’d had before now melted in lax drowsiness as she physically melted back into his warm strength. He lifted a heavy leg over hers, his arms curled tighter—cradling her ultra-close. Consciousness slipped. Her muscles were spent, that yearning in her depths sated. The last thing she heard was another burst of laughter coming through the open window. A man’s laugh. With the last fragment of conscious energy she frowned—she recognised that laugh.
* * *
Hours later she slowly woke to a low moan echoing in her ears. Her own moan as she released a breath that seemed to have been held for ever. Her heart was pumping, her skin—and other bits—damp and so hot. She was having the most vivid, gorgeous dream. She resisted opening her eyes, wanting to stay in the sizzling fantasy. And in that fantasy she was imprisoned in the arms of one very hot, hard body—part of that body was very, very hard. His fingertips gently brushed down her lower belly. The urge to flex her hips—to invite—was irresistible. As she rocked back against him she felt the rebellious ache in her muscles, but she didn’t care. Not as the memories cleared—the wildness of that ride coming into focus. Not when his hips teased right back and his fingers went...
‘Good morning.’ His voice was less sleep-rusted than it had been last night, but it was still strange.
Ellie froze. Her heart stopped, totalling her oxygen supply. Then she spun, inadvertently trapping his hand between her legs. The molten-brown eyes intently focused on her weren’t the pale green ones she’d expected.
‘Oh, my God!’ She jerked to a sitting position, trapping his hand all the more. Clutching the sheet to her chest with hands curled into claws, she squawked, utterly breathless, ‘Who the hell are you?’
CHAPTER TWO
RUBEN THEROUX had never had a bedmate regret frolicking with him and he had no intention of breaking that record now. He didn’t care that he hadn’t a clue who his sexy intruder was. No, the question he’d spent the last twenty minutes musing over was what colour her eyes were. Now he knew. Cornflower blue and crazy big. And though shock had whitened her face, she was still the prettiest thing he’d woken to find in his bed. Then again, he hadn’t woken to anyone in his bed in a while. Relationships and Ruben were like oil and water, and he’d been too busy in recent times for even a five hour fling. So maybe it wasn’t surprising he’d spent so long studying the soft woman soundly sleeping—until he’d succumbed to the temptation to tease. And, oh, my, she was hot to tease.
‘You’re not Nathan.’ Strangled sound emerged as she stated the obvious.
‘No,’ he answered calmly, not moving a muscle so as not to freak her out more. But who the hell was Nathan and how could she have made such a mistake?
‘How can you not be Nathan?’ she gasped.
Yeah, his thoughts exactly. ‘Well.’ He stated it quietly. ‘This isn’t Nathan’s room. This is my room.’ Literally. Every room in the place was his.
Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. He waited—motionless—to see how this was going to go. She didn’t seem to realise her thighs were sandwiching his hand in a hot, smooth vice and he wasn’t going to make any sudden kind of movement. But the memory of those limbs straddling his hips wasn’t helping him recover his equilibrium. All he could feel were those lush, strong curves. He wanted the rest of him to be in the midst of them again.
She flicked a wild glance around the room and then arrowed all her attention right back at him. ‘But this has to be his room—I counted the doors. The other one was empty.’
He pressed his lips together to stop the chuckle sliding out because he didn’t want to make the situation worse for her.
‘Are you sure you’re in the right room?’ she asked, her eyes still shocked wide.
‘Positive. I got in late last night.’ He’d been so tired it had been all he’d been able to do to stumble from the shower straight to what was definitely his bed. ‘I came to bed and then the best dream ever turned out to be real.’
Only his dream-turned-real lover was now turning fifty shades of red—embarrassment staining her skin in a swift sweep. Her murmurs of pleasure came back to him—her rough claim that she hadn’t known it would be so good. Yeah. The sweetheart had made a mistake. She’d meant that passion for some other guy. A sharp claw of envy swiped his ribs, puncturing his enjoyment of his best ever wake-up. But it hadn’t been some other guy who’d pleased her so much. It had been him.
‘You’re a guest here?’ she asked in a low choked voice.
‘Actually I—’
She didn’t give him the chance to introduce himself; instead she launched into a monologue of mortification and panic. ‘Oh, I can’t believe this. I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.’
Partly because he wanted to see her reaction, but mainly because he couldn’t resist, he let his fingers stroke—just the once, so very gently—in the hot, damp prison she gripped them in.
The incessant apologies ended instantly on a breathless gasp. Her mouth reddened, her muscles tightened and her temperature sizzled. His eyes locked on hers, watching the blue go brilliant, then her black pupils absorbed that colour as they swelled super fast. Her flush deepened. He felt the spasms before she twisted, releasing him as she scuttled to the far edge of the bed.
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ he said, wondering if he should be the one saying sorry now. But he couldn’t quite regret it. She’d been waking up so wonderfully willing in his arms when she’d thought he was this Nathan, but just then? That had been a raw response to him. She was hot and hungry for him. As she’d been last night when he’d been the one to meet her demands.
A swift glance told him what he needed to know—there were no rings between those white knuckles. No guy had staked a permanent claim and the Nathan guy was a fool for not taking her to bed sooner. The woman was passionate and hungry, literally a dream lover.
He coughed to ease the constriction in his chest. ‘I’m sorry I’m not Nathan.’
Only because he wanted what she’d meant for the other guy—that invitation and pleasure. Hell, he wanted it now. He was stiffer than a steel pipe and feeling her sensual response spike like that had worsened it. But he fought the impulse to drag her close again, wincing at his new-found Neanderthal leanings.
The poor woman was completely mortified and he was all rampaging lust, desperate to sleep with her again. What kind of human was he?
Definitely one who’d been without too long. Because try as hard as he could he couldn’t seem to ‘relax’.
‘Don’t be sorry.’ She emphatically shook her head.
Her deepening discomfort bothered him more than his uncontrollable body. Somehow he had to limit the damage here and help her find a funny side. And nothing smoothed a situation more than some humour.
* * *
Ellie struggled to hide her breathlessness. Shock still had her lungs in a tight grip, but so did desire—she was seconds from orgasm and, frankly, that doubled her shock.
She stared at the complete stranger only a couple of feet from her. The stranger that she now knew so intimately. And just looking at him sent her heart rate through the ceiling.
