A few hours later, I woke in a haze. A dull pain bloomed in my lower back, probably because I was wedged on the tiny sofa.
My feet, which were freezing, hung over the side and the rest of me was covered with the white, puffy duvet from the bedroom. It was still light out, and now I had no idea if it was four in the morning, eight at night, or three in the afternoon.
Confused, I blinked rapidly and heard Colin in the galley kitchen adjacent to the living room, pouring a cup of what smelled like coffee.
I tried to be discreet as I pulled the comforter over my head.
Please let him be wearing a shirt. Please. Please.
I couldn't handle the muscles in his stomach or the V near his hips or the muscular pecs this early, not without blushing or giggling or possibly pouncing.
My forehead throbbed, and I recalled the embarrassing set of events leading up to me smacking my face into the wall. I rubbed the lump. If only I could stay under this blanket for the day. Or an eternity.
"Good morning, pumpkin."
I flipped the duvet down to my shoulders. He was standing over me with the most adorable smile and bed-rumpled black hair. I grimaced from his sheer cuteness and the memory of molesting him.
To my relief, he was fully clothed, but still in those sexy grey track pants. I pushed the vision of his alluring abs and the feeling of his erection out of my mind.
I stretched my arms overhead, making sure the comforter covered my chest.
"Well, good morning, I guess. Where did this duvet come from?"
"When I came out here an hour ago, you looked rather uncomfortable and cold. You'd wrapped yourself in your shawl, but I took pity on you and covered you with the comforter."
I nodded, sitting up and wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. "I see. Thank you. Well, about last night—"
Colin shook his head. "These things happen. And I know I'm irresistible." He grinned and held up his mug. "Coffee?"
I scowled. "Yes, please. I'm going to need something other than your self-assured declarations to wake me up."
With the comforter still around my shoulders, I ignored his laughter and padded down the hall.
I dug around in the closet until I found a long, belted sweater in a hideous maroon shade. I looked for some longer pants, leggings, anything, but apparently the lady of the house only wore hotpants while in Iceland.
I tied the sweater belt tight around my waist. It wasn't pretty in combination with the shorts, but it was better than exposing myself further to Colin.
I met him in the kitchen.
"How do you take your coffee?"
"Black. Like my mood." My voice was curt. I was trying not to look at his powerful legs in those pants. And the white T-shirt he wore was tight enough to reveal a muscular torso.
Oh, God. His chest. I must have been stroking it when I was dreaming of the suede. Had I actually licked his chest? A jolt of shame shot through me.
I cleared my throat and studied a rack of cast iron pots intently.
"Samantha?" He was holding a plain white mug in my direction and I thanked him.
"For a woman who sells a lifestyle of sunshine, you sure have a bit of a dark side."
I took the mug from his hands. "I guess. One of my official brand slogans is, 'Smiling never goes out of style.'"
He nodded thoughtfully. "Have you always been this, uh, dark and light?"
YOU ARE READING
Tell Me a FantasyChickLit
Samantha Citrouille's anxiety won't stop her from attending London Fashion Week and collecting a lifetime industry award. After all, when iconic designer Karl Lagerfeld requests your presence at an exclusive party, you have to jump on a plane. Even...