Chapter Fifty-Six
I awoke to grey light. I blinked blearily in the gloom and, for a moment, puzzled where I was.
This wasn’t the bedroom I shared with my husband. Correction, ex-husband. Neither was I in Lisa’s lounge. Nor was this the pullout bed in Milo’s studio. And then I groaned.
Of course. Milo and I had been watching a funny film together. Well, until I’d flaked out. How very remiss of me. And where was Milo?
At the thought of him, I sat bolt upright and experienced a bit of a head rush. A cosy throw slid off my body. I made a cartoon arm and yanked it back over me. Evidently Milo had put it over me after I’d – how embarrassing – crashed out on his shoulder.
I had absolutely no recollection as to how he’d eased himself out from under my weight. Please God that I hadn’t been snoring in his ear. Or dribbling on his shoulder.
I snuggled back under the throw again, grateful that he’d covered me up and – oh, God, had he undressed me too?
A quick peek under the cover revealed my attire. Scruffy pyjamas. Tatty dressing gown. Ah, yes. It was all coming back to me now. Upon my arrival at Starlight Cottage, I’d already been dressed for bed.
The wood burner had long gone out. Cindy was curled up in front of it, nose tightly tucked under her forearm as if to keep her muzzle warm. Rambo was lying on his back. He had all four paws in the air and was snoring his head off. For a little dog, he made quite a racket. He wriggled in his sleep, made a snuffling noise, then broke wind. Oh, poo , Rambo.
I flapped my blanket about, trying to waft away the putrid smell of eau-de-parp. As I did so, a yawning Milo came into the lounge.
Oh, terrific, Tilly. The room stinks and you’re wafting the throw about as if you’re the guilty party.
‘Morning,’ I gasped. I dropped the cover and scooted out of bed. Dashing over to the kitchen area, I threw open the window. ‘It’s very stuffy in here,’ I gabbled as a gale force wind entered the room. The gusts ruffled a plant on the worktop, then swirled round my ankles. Under my dressing gown, a rash of goosebumps broke out on my skin.
‘Stuffy?’ Milo blinked at me owlishly. ‘Shut the window, Tilly. I’m freezing my nuts off.’
At the mention of his nuts, my eyes automatically dropped to his groin. However, his privates were covered by a casual navy-blue dressing gown. He looked like a celebrity. An icon who’d invited a glossy magazine inside his home to photograph some behind-the-scenes moments.
And here we have superstar Milo Soren relaxing at home as he waits for personal assistant Tilly to make his morning coffee – freshly ground Italian beans, naturally, that epitomise the true essence of coffee culture. Milo wears his favourite Dolce and Gabbana robe accessorised with a pair of Versace leopard slippers to channel his inner tiger – grrrr! – while Tilly models vintage sleepwear with a fashionably distressed hemline and must-have hole to the left pocket.
Teeth chattering, I slammed the window shut. Hopefully the rush of air into the room had diffused Rambo’s whiffy fart.
‘I’m so sorry for falling asleep on your sofa,’ I gibbered. ‘Whatever must you think?’
‘That you were exhausted,’ he shrugged.
Milo gave a huge, noisy yawn, extending his arms high into the air. For a moment I was privy to a pair of waggling tonsils and a very pink tongue. The dressing gown lifted as he stretched. My eyes were immediately drawn to his lower legs. They were nicely muscled and covered in enough dark hair to make my sap unexpectedly rise.
Robin’s legs had been at odds with the rest of his body. Almost hairless. Like a woman’s. Too skinny. And too pale. Whereas Milo’s were perfect. Muscular calves. Beautifully defined. Gorgeous biscuit-coloured skin. It had me wondering what the rest of his legs looked like. I had a sudden vision of strong thighs worthy of a professional footballer. Toned muscles. Lots of definition. And more dark hair. Nice.
My insides seemed to be melting. I leant back against the worktop. Casually flung my arms out – although in truth it was to keep me propped up. The thought of Milo’s hairy legs was having a disastrous effect on me.
Milo finished stretching. As his arms flopped back to his sides, the robe gaped open revealing his chest. Holy Moly. Just look at those pecs. And – I nearly groaned aloud – chest hair. Lovely. I was a total sucker for it. Especially when it was dark. No doubt it led all the way down his torso. Culminated in a sexy little snail trail. I could feel myself getting awfully hot, and it was nothing to do with being peri menopausal.
But wait. Milo was staring at me intently. And… yes… he was moving towards me. Oh wow, there was a definite look on his face. One that informed he was a man on a mission. As the distance between us closed, I gazed at him lustfully.
Omigod. What was he going to do? Scoop me into his arms? Lift me up and emulate that scene from An Officer and a Gentleman ? Be my Richard Gere to his Debra Winger? And would he then stride manfully over to the sofa as Joe Cocker crooned the lyrics that every woman of a certain age knew by heart?
I shrank back against the worktop. Wow. My romantic life was about to take an upward turn. In that moment I knew exactly what Candace had meant in her puddly love note to Leslie.
I closed my eyes in anticipation of Milo’s lips meeting mine, and mentally crossed my fingers that I had kitten breath rather than doggy halitosis.
My eyes pinged open again when Milo strode straight past me. Rather than his hands grabbing me, they were instead unlocking the backdoor. Once again, air swirled around my ankles as the man accomplished his mission and gave Cindy and Rambo their marching orders.
‘Right you two. Wee wees.’