by Fiona Lowe
She plumped a pillow. “No, the schedule’s changed. You’re off.”
His glazed gaze stared off in the distance. “I’m off? Thank God.” He swung off the bed, kicked off his shoes and, dropping his left arm behind his head, tugged at his collar. Raising his right shoulder, he pulled his shirt off in one fluid movement.
Her mouth dried at the sight of his naked chest with its delineated pectoral muscles, dark nipples and dusting of light brown hair. Her gaze slipped lower, and a thrill shot through her as she noted that his rectus abdominis were indeed as awe-inspiring as she’d imagined.
Distracted by the sight, she was caught by surprise when he shucked his trousers. Now he stood before her in gray trunks—trunks that fit him perfectly, outlining an impressive package that left little to the imagination.
Oh. My. God. She couldn’t deny that the sound coming out of her mouth was a high-pitched squeak. So much for being an experienced nurse and a trainee doctor who was unfazed by body parts. She always had a certain detachment when it came to seeing half-naked and fully naked men, but right now it had deserted her.
Does he sleep naked? her crush asked, bouncing up and down. Let him sleep naked, please.
She pressed her hands to her face to block the view. He’s asleep. I’m not looking—that would be perving.
Oh please. You know this is your only chance so go ahead and take it.
She heard the rustle of the covers, and when she peeked through her splayed fingers, she saw Will had gotten into the bed, laid down his head and was instantly asleep. Then again, this whole time he’d never actually been awake. She stood for a moment, gazing at him, soaking him in. She watched the slow and steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, studied the way his thick, chocolate milk lashes brushed his cheeks and how his day’s-end blond brown stubble shadowed his square jaw.
Her gaze lingered on the sensual curve of his mouth. Oh, what a mouth—thick, full lips that peaked across a wide philtrum—it should come with its very own parental guidance warning. Even with a faint, jagged scar on his chin and his top lip being slightly larger than his bottom one, he was, without doubt, a truly beautiful specimen of humankind. She wondered about the collision of DNA that had given him such dusky skin and contrasting light-colored hair. It was an unusual combination, as were his deep sapphire blue eyes. Either way, she knew she could gaze at him for hours.
A yawn bubbled up and out of her, and she glanced at the clock on her nightstand: 1:45 A.M. Bed was calling. Where are you going to sleep? Technically, she could place the bolster pillow between her and Will, and with the width of the king-size bed, it meant they’d be unlikely to touch each other.
Good plan! Let’s do that! her crush cheered. You never know, he might roll over the bolster.
Dex vibrated. She checked the reading and sighed before pricking her finger and confirming the result. Having finally started to fall, her blood sugar was now tumbling way too fast. As she’d feared, that last unit of insulin had been overkill, and now, even though she wasn’t remotely hungry, she needed to go eat and eat a lot. She knew Dex would alarm if she hit the danger zone at either end of the spectrum, and as the beeps seemed to send Will into emergency physician mode, that dictated she spend the night on the sofa.
Just fabulous. Between Dex beeping, her trying to get comfortable on the too-short sofa and knowing that Will was so close in the next room, she doubted sleep was going to happen. Come morning, though, she knew exactly what was going to happen. Will was leaving and leaving early. The only way she could keep her secret was to push him out the door as fast as possible and put a one-hundred-mile safety buffer between them.
WILL slowly became aware of sunlight penetrating his eyelids, but he didn’t open them, because that would mean he was awake, and right now, he was warm, relaxed and cozy. He wanted to stay that way.
The earthy scent of musk, mint and lemon circled him, reminding him of the flowering eucalypts at home. Smooth, soft sheets stroked his body, and he rolled over just so he could feel their silky touch sliding against him. These sheets didn’t feel anything like the ones in the on-call room. Come to think of it, the bed was way more comfortable, too—it was wider and his feet didn’t poke out the end. He wiggled his toes, and that’s when it hit him. He wasn’t in the on-call room. He was in Bear Paw, and this was the Glacier Park Inn.
He cocked one eye open, and as the wallpaper came into focus, he quickly opened his other one. Although he’d only spent half an hour in the motel room before the wedding, grabbing a shower and a shave, he didn’t recall the walls being decorated with silver and gray wallpaper that outlined white, skinny trees. He sat up and took in the rest of the room. Instead of the ubiquitous brown motel nightstands, these were white. There was also a white dresser divided up by five drawers and with a mess of stuff on the top, a white closet and a heap of clothes cascading out of a white wicker laundry hamper.
Where the hell was he?
He scrubbed his face with his hands as if that would help him think more clearly. All it told him was it had been hours since he’d shaved. The last thing he remembered was making the decision to return to the motel. He’d extracted himself from Brittany before gifting Mrs. van Dyke with the wedding bouquet and walking out of the tent to find his car. Why the hell wasn’t he at the motel? He glanced to his left at the vacant side of the bed. More importantly, who the hell had he slept with last night?
Shit. He had no recollection and he should remember. He hadn’t been hammered—hell, he’d only had a few drinks—and yet he had no clue whose bedroom he was in. He groaned, suddenly horrified. Surely he hadn’t given in to Brittany? Please, no. How could he have had sex and not remember a thing about it?
Had he been roofied? Nah. He didn’t have any of the known side effects of the drug, and if a woman had spiked his drink, it would have been to her disadvantage because Rohypnol would have rendered him unable to perform. Then again, he couldn’t remember even trying to perform. His brain spun and stalled, trying to find a way through what was a blank space in his memory.
You can work this out. Just take it step by step.
He definitely remembered Mrs. van Dyke and her look of delight when he’d presented her with the bouquet. It was after saying good-bye to her that things got fuzzy. To add to his confusion, he had a strong feeling he’d gone to work, which made absolutely no sense at all.
He glanced around, looking for obvious clues in the room—things that would tell him where he was, such as photos, a discarded formal dress, but there were no people pictures and the only clothes on the floor were his. Faced with more questions than answers, he had little choice but to get dressed and go charm his way out of this mess. He was about to throw back the covers when his nostrils detected the aroma of bacon and eggs. His stomach growled.
The bedroom door opened partway, as if the person on the other side was peeking in to see if he was awake. Taking the bull by the horns, he said, “G’day.” It was the first word he’d spoken for the day, and it came out husky and deep. He cleared his throat. “Come in.”
The door opened all the way, and a ginger and white cat shot in, jumping onto the bed and giving him a long and disapproving stare as if to say, Who the hell are you?
Far more used to dogs than cats, he reached out his hand to pat its head. “Ouch.” He pulled his hand back fast as the bloody thing tried to bite him.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Millie walked in carrying a tray.
Millie? Relief slid through him that it was her and not any of the other women who’d been chasing him at the wedding. Laughter followed, rocking out of him as he realized all his fears about what might have happened in this bed last night were totally unfounded. He’d dodged a hell of a bullet.
As she set the tray down on the other side of the bed, she raised her brows at his chuckle. “Something funny?”
He leaned back on the pillows. “You’ve just solved a mystery for me.”
“Oh?”
He smiled at her, k
nowing she’d appreciate the joke. “I was having a lot of trouble remembering what happened last night, and I wasn’t exactly certain who was going to walk through that door.”
She folded her arms across her green singlet pajama top. “You weren’t expecting it to be me, were you?”
“Put it this way: I’m very glad it’s you.”
Her mouth grimaced on one side, and he got the impression he’d somehow insulted her. She spun abruptly on her heel and walked over to the dresser, bending down to pull open the bottom drawer.
His gaze followed her. He’d only ever seen Millie in long pants, but today she was wearing blue and green striped pajama shorts and her long legs were bare. Very bare. Gloriously bare and showing acres of creamy, smooth skin that wasn’t stretched taut over solid muscle, but then again, it wasn’t flabby, either. It looked enticingly soft. For the first time in weeks, his body reacted, and he had an overwhelming urge to test if her thighs felt as good as they looked.
Jesus, what’s wrong with you? She’s gay.
I’m just window-shopping.
He pressed his fingers against the indisputable itch in his palm and pulled his gaze away.
Rising, she threw a T-shirt at him. “This was my brother’s before I commandeered it. It should fit.”
He raised a hand and caught it. “There’s a dress code for breakfast?”
“There is if you want bacon.”
“Consider me dressed.” He promptly pulled the faded maroon Montana Grizzlies T-shirt over his head, acknowledging this had to be the first time a woman had ever asked him to cover up.
He moved the tray across his lap and picked up a piece of whole wheat toast golden with butter. Placing two pieces of crispy bacon on top, he took a big bite, savoring the flavor of salt and pork as he chewed and swallowed it down. “This is amazing. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She poured coffee from a pot, pilfered a piece of bacon off his plate and then sat facing him, cross-legged, at the end of the bed.
“So last night . . . ?” he asked around mouthfuls of the best breakfast he’d had in a long time, hoping she’d fill him in on how he’d landed in her bed.
“Was interesting,” she said with a smile that trailed all the way from her pert, pink lips up to her eyes, making the green and brown flecks sparkle.
“Definitely interesting.” He matched her smile with one of his high-wattage ones—a smile that generally made women talk—before he realized with a gut-dropping thud that none of his usual techniques would make a damn bit of difference with Millie.
She leaned back on the bed end. “You don’t have a clue what happened, do you?”
He chose honesty. “Not really, no.” He wiped the runny yolk from the poached egg off his chin with a napkin. “I know I gave Mrs. van Dyke a kiss good-bye and I left the tent. That’s a very clear image, but what happened next is vague. I don’t remember arriving here, but I have this strong feeling I attended a MontMedAir emergency, which is crazy, right?”
She smiled an indulgent smile over her coffee mug. “Not totally crazy.”
Man, he really was losing it. “I worked last night?”
“You thought you did.” She took a slug of the fragrant brew. “You do know that you sleepwalk, right?”
“No, I don’t,” he said as a prickle of indignation ran up his spine.
“Yeah, you do.”
“I did as a kid, but I grew out of it years ago.”
Her chestnut brows rose mockingly. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.” The word came out short and sure. “Mum said I only ever sleepwalked when I was overtired and . . .” Memories of last night—the tilting sensations, the dizzy spells, the fact he’d fallen asleep sitting down—came rushing back, filling him with a sinking feeling. “Please tell me I didn’t?”
Her burst of laughter rained over him, confirming his worst fears. “Oh, you really did, and you did it on a spectacular scale,” she said, looking as if she was relishing the idea of telling him the full story. “I found you asleep standing up after everyone had left. When I tried to wake you, you thought you were needed at MontMedAir and you insisted we go to the airport. Fortunately, I steered you toward my car, and lucky for me you sat in the passenger seat. If you hadn’t, you probably would have driven the car. When we got back here, you tried to resuscitate my bolster pillow.” Her gaze dropped to her coffee.
“What?” He had a feeling he’d done something bad. Perhaps something that had upset her.
Her head shot up, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “Then you got undressed and got into bed.”
His gut rolled again. He always slept naked, and it was one thing to get naked with a willing and appreciative woman, but Millie wasn’t either of those things. With a sinking feeling, he raised the sheet. His eyes glimpsed the black band of his jocks, and relief slid into him. “Thank God.”
“Exactly,” she said with a wry tilt to her lips.
Her very kissable lips. Why hadn’t he ever noticed them before?
What the hell? The moment you find out she’s gay and there’s no chance she’s ever going to be into you, you decide she’s sexy? He shook the thought away but then he heard Charlie say, That’s sick, mate. You need help.
“So you slept . . . ?”
“On the sofa, but sleep is a relative term.”
He noticed the dark shadows that smudged the delicate skin under her eyes. “Sorry. What can I do to make it up to you? Lunch? A picnic? After all, I owe you one for not letting me drive my car asleep.”
She stretched out her long legs before swinging them to the floor, and the itch in his hand intensified. Picking up the obstreperous cat, she hugged it close to her. “I thought you were due back in Great Falls?”
He moved the tray off his lap as his brain started to kick into gear. He had no reason to race back to Great Falls to an empty apartment and a pile of dirty washing. With Josh gone on his honeymoon, Millie would be good substitute company. “It’s all good as long as I’m back by eight tonight.” He reached for his pants.
“I’ll leave you to get dressed.” She walked quickly to the door.
He was shoving his left leg into his trousers when it hit him. “Millie, wait.”
She turned toward him, her eyes widening, and then she hurriedly turned back and faced the door. “What?”
“Where’s my car?”
She gently banged her forehead against the door. “It’s still at the Coulee Creek ranch.”
“My shower can wait if it’s easier for you to drive me out there now.” He zipped his fly closed and pulled on his socks before shoving his feet in his shoes. “Ready when you are.” It wasn’t until he’d picked up his jacket and located his wallet and keys that he realized she hadn’t said anything. “Millie?”
“Sorry, Will. I’ve got plans.”
“At 10 A.M. on a Sunday morning?”
“Yes.” The word shot out defensively. “Is that so unexpected? I do have a life, Will.”
He held up his hands in a show of peace. “Of course you do,” he said in a placating tone, surprised by her emphatic reply. Although he wasn’t a regular churchgoing bloke, he’d learned soon after arriving in Montana that most churches had 11 A.M. services. The hour of power usually meant an hour of peace in the ER—the walking wounded tended to arrive after lunch.
“Is there any chance your plans could include dropping me out at the ranch first? You’ve got an hour before church, and it would be your good deed for the day.” He tilted his head and gave what he hoped was both a flattering and encouraging smile. “Please.”
She sucked in her lips as if she was stopping herself from speaking. “Give me your phone.”
He handed it over and watched her plug in what he assumed was her number so they could catch up later. When she gave it back to him, she said, “That’s the number for the Bear Paw cab. Well, it’s more of a minivan. If you call Don now, he can take you out to Coulee Creek before he starts the church run.”
“What about the picnic? Surely there’s a national monument around here an Aussie should see?”
Her plump lips didn’t even crack a smile. “It was good to see you, Will. Drive safe.”
As she closed the door behind her, he realized he’d just been fobbed off and his invitation soundly rejected. It wasn’t a familiar scenario. Usually he was the one saying, I’ll be in touch or Can I take a rain check? Not the other way around. Hell, she hadn’t even offered up the oldie but goodie of Another time, perhaps? She hadn’t even sounded apologetic.
That ticked him off. When he didn’t want to accept an invitation, he at least made it sound like he was sorry so as not to hurt the invitee’s feelings. An irrational disappointment spread through him, and that was unexpected. Why the hell should he be disappointed that Millie was busy?
Because you don’t want to spend the day alone.
He sighed. Coming to Montana was all about getting used to being alone. It was a much-needed change in a new place where he and Charlie had never spent any time together. He still had another year on his visa, but just lately, Charlie’s voice was getting louder and he’d been having intense moments of homesickness. This bothered him, because the point of being in Montana was to learn how to live as a twinless twin. Surely going home would just make things harder?
When homesickness struck and he missed the red dirt, the golden sands, the aquamarine sea of the West Australian coast, and the sweet taste of a jam-filled Lamington, he found getting active and doing stuff outdoors helped. The vast expanse of the intense blue Montana sky was the same as home, only without the heat-haze shimmer. Having company helped, too. A picnic with Millie had held appeal because it was outdoors and she was fun and really easy to be around.
Do I need to say it again? She’s gay.
Exactly!
The last time he’d had a female friend he’d been ten. Once puberty hit, everything had changed. He’d learned that no matter what women told him about wanting to be friends, they inevitably wanted more, and that’s when things got complicated. If he had sex with them, the friendship failed. If he didn’t have sex with them, the friendship failed. Feelings always got in the way and always got hurt. But with Millie, sex wasn’t an issue. She had all the qualities of the perfect female friend—fun, uncomplicated and with no hidden agenda.