The Girl behind the Throne (Editing)

Chapter 7

I woke in a bleary painful bubble. My mouth felt dryer than the Sahara Desert and my dry, chalky feeling skin and eyes, made it clear that I hadn't taken off my make up before I passed out. Groaning, I turned around in my rather small bed and slammed straight into a hard chest. Looking up slowly, one inch at a time, I took in the running shorts, the t-shirt and the face, all of which belonged to Jamie. I yelped, a high pitched noise which I had never made before, and if I was honest, I'm not sure I could again. I pulled back the covers to reveal that I was still in my boob tube mini dress and I breathed a sigh of relief. I mean, it's not like I didn't trust Jamie, and thought that he had done something to me while I was high and drunk, but I wouldn't put it past drunk me to strip in front of him.

Thankfully, I was in the same state I had been leaving Sloane's house, and I barely remembered the ride home in her town car. Where we drinking champagne in the car? That sounds about right, and in a flood of flashing images I had a memory of Sloane in a top hat and thick fur coat, it was 'faux fur, I love animals more than people' Sloane had assured me.

Groaning, I threw my hands up onto my throbbing head and fell back onto my pillow. Jamie made small snuffling noises in his sleep, and I turned slowly again to look at him. He looked like a figure out of a painting, a Henry Scot Tuke portrait, with his strong bone structure, golden skin and hair.

I watched him breathe for a couple of minutes, his messy hair and straight brows giving him an air of innocence that he didn't have while awake. Lifting my hand, I pushed back some of those golden blonde strands, showing a strong high forehead and highlighting his strong, straight nose. I sighed heavily, the sort of sigh which escapes your lips while looking at something beautiful.

Jamie moved in sleep and groaned at the sound of my sigh. He reached, pulling me close, one hand wrapped around my hip, our groins pressed up against each other, and my face in his neck. I inhaled softly, smelling the signature scent of Jamie, a heady mix of mint and spice. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe normally, but my heart was hammering in my chest like a jack hammer, so loud in my ears that I found it hard to believe that Jamie couldn't hear it.

In the low sunlight of my room, I focused on the feel of his hands, of the warmth breeze of his breath on my hair, and I closed my eyes, feeling safe and comforted.

Roughly around an hour later, my phone woke me again, the shrill calls coming from my small clutch handbag which had been deposited in the corner of the room. Jamie stirred, flicking one silver eye open, looking very disgruntled and annoyed.

'What the hell is that?'He asked, yawning deeply with sleep.

'My phone.' I muttered in explanation, jumping up and out of my bed and over to my bag, silencing the incoming call from Sloane. All the sudden movements had only highlighted the effects of this truly astronomical hangover, and I staggered over to the bed, and threw myself down on it dramatically. 'I'm never drinking again.' I moaned.

Jamie laughed, leaning up on one elbow and looking down at me, spread out sideways on my small bed, resting my head on his knee. Leaning down, he patted my head in empathy.

'I've heard you declare that at least five times now.' He said, another wracking yawn tingeing his voice.

I didn't look up at him, too worried about the pain in my head to even ogle Jamie, which should tell you how bad it was. There was a horrendous smell in my room, one which smelled like a brewery mixed with stale cigarette butts and I sniffed loudly, whining when through some experimental sniffs, I realised it was me.

'I stink.' I said simply, and wanted the earth's crust to open and swallow me whole. Why did this have to happen to me? All I wanted was to go out and not think about Jamie for one night, and I had ended up calling him, telling him I thought he was handsome and then woke up in his arms.