A familiar sound filtered through Monica’s dream. First, she tried to incorporate the event. When the noise got louder, consciousness won the war over sleep. Snoring?
Monica’s eyes flew open. The first thing that met her startled gaze was a naked back. A man’s naked back. What the hell had she done?
As if he’d sensed her waking up, Enigma rolled over, pulling her into a close embrace. “Good morn—”
She elbowed him in the ribs, desperate to move him away before she did something she’d regret. Only then did it occur to her that she’d probably already done something. Her heart beat a violent tattoo under her breast. A breast cradled against his arm. The thought of his touch made her nipples harden and a sudden rush of heat settled between her thighs.
“What?” Enigma’s green eyes opened.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered urgently.
“You invited me to stay. Remember?”
Monica shook her head.
“Sure you do. We went down to the study in the middle of the night.”
“After someone tried to push me down the stairs? Yes. I do recall that.” She closed her eyes and searched her memory. There was a huge blank space in her mind. They’d discussed the portrait, identified the dress, and then…nothing.
“Shit, you really don’t remember, do you?”
Monica grimaced. “Did we?”
The question was purely rhetorical. Of course they had. She was naked, the sheets were tangled around their legs, and there was a wet spot. Damn it all anyway. She’d gone and done the nasty with the sexiest man on the planet and couldn’t remember a thing.
“Yes, we did. I must say you were quite enthusiastic about it at the time.”
“Oh, I can imagine.” Indeed, she’d fantasized about it numerous times in the past. How ironic that she couldn’t recall the real experience.
“Let me help you with the memory.”
With one swift movement, Enigma pushed her back on the mattress and poised over her. His mouth pressed against hers. When his tongue probed between her lips she realized he intended to repeat last night’s activities. Then, all rational thought fled as heat and desire shot down her body. He gazed into her eyes, and she took a deep breath. A sharp pounding at the door made them jump apart.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Monica scrambled up, pulling the sheet around her.
“Monica!” Malcolm’s voice carried through the heavy wooden door. “Are you awake?”
She suppressed a giggle at the sight of Enigma frantically pulling on his boxer briefs and jeans.
“Just a minute,” she called in a sing-song voice. She scooped up her pants and blouse, hesitating to drop the sheet.
“Are you okay?” Malcolm called out.
“Fine. I’m fine. Give me a minute, will you?” Monica made a face, and Enigma burst out laughing, then, clapped his hand over his mouth.
“Monica, are you alone in there?”
Feeling more like a guilty teenager than a consenting adult, Monica dragged on her shirt. Where had her clothes come from? She hadn’t been able to find them last night. Too frantic to dress before her brother barged into the room, she tabled her puzzlement about their reappearance.
She reached for the buttons, and realized the garment was inside out. Ripping it off, she fought the fabric to pull the arms through. Her jeans were equally contrary, refusing to zip up to the waistband. Under normal circumstances, she’d lay across the bed to let gravity work to compress her stomach before wrestling with the zipper. That was out of the question, as Enigma had perched on the edge of the aforementioned bed, looking cool, collected, and amused.
After what seemed like an eternity, she got her pants fastened and jerked the tail of her shirt down to cover the open fly. She caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror. Oh, blessed be. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly romped in the hay, or, in this case, through the sheets.
She ran her fingers through her curls. Instead of smoothing her unruly locks, her hair now appeared more disheveled than before. Her brother wouldn’t go away, there was nothing else but to answer the door.