Chapter 11
NORA
I wake up to the sound of a chainsaw. A repetitive chainsaw starting and stopping. But somehow, I feel good. Cozy.
Except for the press of something behind my eyes. A headache maybe. Stupid chainsaw.
My mind tries to focus. There are no chainsaws in London, are there? I blink my eyes open.
The chainsaw rips again. Only, it’s not a chainsaw. There’s someone sprawled on his back in my bed, his chest lifting with a giant inhale.
Adrenaline explodes through me and I scramble backward. Only when I reach my hand behind me I hit only air. Then I gasp, because I’m falling backward.
I land with an ungraceful, painful thud of limbs on the wood floor of a bedroom.
My bedroom, I register.
Thankfully, my mattress and box spring are on a platform on the floor, so it’s not far to fall.
It still hurts like a bitch though. I groan, pityingly as I pat around over my head for my glasses.
I barely manage to pull them on when Jude’s face appears over the side of the bed.
“Shit, Nora. You okay?” His voice is gravelly and he’s squinting. I don’t think he’s really awake.
Outside the sounds of the city are in full swing, though the morning light is dim. It has to be early still.
“Not really,” I croak. “I thought…” I thought I’d sleepwalked and ended up in someone else’s apartment. It had been years, but I had that same panicky feeling after waking up.
But was this any better? Jude was in my bed.
Jude.
I don’t remember how he got there. “How much did I drink last night?” I’m a known lightweight.
But before I know what’s happening, Jude’s long arm is reaching down, and he scoops me up and onto the bed.
My heart’s pounding in my chest as I look up. Jude’s eyes are closed, but he’s got a dopey smile on his face. He’s still drunk, it’s the only explanation.
“A lot,” he murmurs, answering my question.
A moment later, his mouth falls open slightly and the snoring starts up again.
My whole body zings, both from the shock of him being here, and...well, that’s it. Him being here. I’m lying almost toe-to-toe with him, if my toes reached further down than his shins. I can feel the heat coming off of him.
I need to extract myself from this situation, but for a moment I don’t move.
The part of me that’s screwing everything up with him tells me to savor it, because this is probably the one and only time Jude Kelly will be in my bed.
I relax slightly, trying to remember how this transpired.
Think.
After a moment, it comes to me. Vaguely, I remember stumbling down the hall with him to my flat, insisting he stay over instead of trying to get a car back to his hotel.
That’s crazy, because that means I knew we were going to have to sleep in the same bed.
I only have a tiny love seat for a couch in this flat, and it’s way too small even for me to comfortably sleep on.
“I’ll take the floor,” Jude had said. It’s coming back to me now.
I smile as I remember him stripping off his clothes, not seductively, but nearly tripping on his pants.
He immediately laid on the hardwood floor in the living room.
But not before plucking a tissue from the box on the coffee table and laying it over his chest like a tiny blanket.
I’d nearly cried laughing, but eventually managed to urge him up and to the bed. By the time I got back from getting my PJs on in the bathroom, he was sawing logs.
I’d been disappointed, I remember now. I’d lain here on the sliver of bed next to him recalling standing in Sasha’s kitchen earlier.
His hand on my face, his blue eyes like molten metal on mine.
I touch my face now. Last night I thought I would orgasm from him looking at me like that. Touching me, barely. After the years of pretending I was fine just being friends with him.
Nothing happened between us. I know not just because we’re fully clothed, but because I know he’d never try anything with me, period. Especially not while we were both drunk.
I don’t think. But what if I did something in my sleep? What if I…said something?
“Jude,” I whisper.
He stops snoring and grunts.
Jude moves then, but instead of opening his eyes, he hooks a hand over my waist and pulls me against him. He slides his hand under my head so my cheek is resting on his arm, his other one settling heavily over my hips. “Okay, Nor?” he murmurs, not opening his eyes.
My heart thuds in my chest, heat zinging down to my lower half.
I’m weak with Jude. Pathetic. But I don’t think I said anything.
He’d be acting differently, wouldn’t he?
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe that knocks me out too hard to sleep-talk.
I wouldn’t know, I rarely get drunk like I did last night. “Okay,” I whisper.
Jude makes a low growling sound that tickles something deep inside of me. Then his breathing gets immediately deep again.
Damn this man. And damn my body for responding to him.
My breasts are pressed up against his forearm wedged between us, and I feel my nipples stiffening. I swear I can even feel the brush of the blond hair there through the thin fabric of my pajama top.
Move, Nora.
But I can’t. All I can do is stare.
He looks like a Viking with his blond hair rumpled, loose across his cheek.
His arm is heavy; thick with long, lean muscle, just like the rest of him.
It’s not the one that won all those championships.
That one is curled up between us, his long, tapered fingers only an inch from my jaw.
He’s beautiful, even on that brink of drunk and hungover, and even with his mouth hanging open snoring like an outboard motor.
The whole of his torso is only inches from me, broad and tight, skin smooth, though his body is slack now in sleep. I inhale his scent. His fresh and athletic smelling soap—he took a shower last night before coming over. I know he did because his hair was still wet, and he looked like a god.
Not that he doesn’t always look like that.
My stomach flips at the same time as my chest aches.
I really do need to get out of this bed.
I can’t think like this. It feels too good.
I move slightly, but his arm is pinning me down.
I lift my hand up like I’m going to touch him, to draw my fingers along the flat front of his chest, down his stomach.
I won’t; I know that’s not right. I press my hand on the sheet between us, but that only draws my eyes down to where brown hair fuzzes a line below his belly button, disappearing into the waistband of his boxer shorts. Only a thin layer of cotton is separating us right now.
Heat surges between my legs.
Oh God, Nora, you pervert!
A sharp buzzing startles me back to my senses.
I wince. That pulsing in my head is now the beginnings of a monstrous headache.
My phone is facedown on my glass-top side table.
Jude stirs at the second buzz, rolling slightly onto his back, twisting the sheet over his legs as he does. My eyes drop back down to his shorts.
How can they not, with that tall tent right at their center.
My mouth goes dry. Oh my God. He’s got a—
My phone buzzes for the third time, and I slide out of Jude’s arms as quickly as I can without disturbing him. He could wake up, and I wouldn’t be able to keep from staring at his hard-on. Then what?
I climb out of bed, swiping my phone up from the bedside table.
When I look at the screen, I realize I don’t recognize the number.
UNKNOWN: Don’t forget! Train travel today to Zurich, Switzerland - Two Hearts Booking
I’m so confused, I stand there a minute, trying to register what I’m reading. Two Hearts Booking—that’s Sasha’s sister’s travel agency in Connecticut. How would she have my number instead of Sasha’s? And why is…
My stomach drops as a hazy memory comes back from last night: Jude, Sasha, and I out on the little balcony off her living room.
Jude sputters. I nearly drop my phone, catching it with a swing of my arm.
I run from the room, barely remembering to switch the deadbolt as I leave my apartment so I don’t get locked out.
I’m sprinting down the hall in my bare feet.
Murray is readjusting the potted plant at the far end of the hallway, of fucking course.
His jaw practically falls open and I remember I’m in only a T-shirt.
Braless, of course, though thank God I’m wearing underwear.
I land at Sasha’s door, banging on it hard.
“Ms. Albright? Everything okay?”
“Not now, Murray!” I say. Then I bang on the door again.
“If you’re locked out—”
“I said not now!” I yell, startling him to standing. He’s never seen me like this. Good.
The door swings open, an alarmed and thoroughly hungover Sasha standing there, confused. “Why are you yelling at Murray at”—she checks her watch—“seven thirty in the fucking morning!”
“You say that like it’s the crack of dawn!”
“It is the crack of dawn, on holidays!”
“Sasha,” I say, holding my phone out to her. “Why do I have a train booked today for Switzerland?”
Sasha frowns, reading my phone with a squint. Then, to my shock, she grins. “Don’t you remember?”
“What, your sister getting my number by accident?”
“Last night, dummy. Laila booked you and Jude train tickets.”
My stomach lurches. “No.”
“She did!”
“You said you’d go with him on his trip. Laila did some weird back-end magic to move his existing ticket so he could travel alone with you, give Cap and his mom some alone time. Jude was so happy he picked you up, Nora. Swung you around the room like you’d said yes to his marriage propos—”
“Sasha, that’s insane.”
“Yeah, it is. But I was so proud of you.”
I lower my phone, trying to scrape the dull fuzz in my brain to remember what had happened. I did remember some of it. Barely.
But it’s coming back to me. Jude, spinning me around the room. Everyone laughing. Me, sliding down his body after all that weirdness in the kitchen, actually excited about this trip.
“How—” I begin.