her lack of response. ‘Well?’ he prompted impatiently.
She gave a slight inclination of her head. ‘I know that too,’ she conceded huskily, accelerating the car out of the car park and into the flow of late night traffic.
‘Remind me, some time, to ask you how you know,’ Fergus murmured drowsily. ‘I have a feeling I’m not going to remember too much about this evening when I wake up tomorrow!’
Chloe sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case…!
CHAPTER TWO
FERGUS woke slowly, totally disorientated for several long moments as he moved his head gingerly to look around what he recognised as the comfort of his bedroom, his head feeling as if it were full of cotton wool.
How had he got here?
Damned if he knew!
He glanced at the bedside clock. Nine-thirty. He lay back on the pillows, his eyes once again closed.
What day was it?
Logan and Darcy’s wedding had been yesterday, he remembered that. So today must be Sunday, he decided. No need to worry about getting up just yet. He didn’t have anywhere else to go, no one to see, and Maud, his housekeeper, always had Sundays off. He usually worked all day on a Sunday, grabbing a sandwich to eat if he felt hungry, so there was really no need for Maud to be here—
Then why could he smell coffee?
Champagne delusions? Because coffee was what he most felt in need of? As he had hoped, he didn’t have a hangover, but his mouth felt as if it were full of sandpaper. A cup of coffee was very much on the agenda. He—
No, there was no doubt about it, he could definitely smell coffee. Strong, rich, reviving coffee.
But how—?
‘Wakey, wakey, Fergus,’ chirruped a bright female voice from somewhere over near the bedroom doorway. ‘I’ve brought you up a mug of coffee.’
Fergus frowned, unmoving, eyes still closed, aware that the smell of coffee was much stronger now, but completely uncertain about the plausibility of that first statement. He couldn’t possibly be awake. There was a woman in his bedroom.
Not that it was unknown for a woman to be in his bedroom; he had spent some very pleasurable hours with women in this four-poster bed. Just not last night. Not just champagne delusions, then, hallucinations, too!
‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ that female voice continued teasingly. ‘Sit up and drink your coffee.’
Fergus slowly opened his eyes, wincing as he turned his head, half afraid of what he was going to see.
Deep blue eyes. A long cascade of blue-black hair. A slender female body obviously completely naked beneath his casually buttoned white evening shirt, the legs bare beneath its thigh-length.
Not hallucinations; he had to still be asleep. There couldn’t possibly be an almost naked woman in his bedroom. He distinctly remembered he had left the wedding reception alone yesterday.
‘Coffee.’ She put down one of the mugs she carried on the table beside him. ‘Black. No sugar,’ she encouraged lightly.
Exactly how he took his coffee. But how did she know—?
‘What are you doing?’ he gasped disbelievingly as she sat down on the bed beside him.
She raised surprised brows, smiling down at him. ‘You don’t mind if I sit here and drink my coffee with you, do you…? Or that I borrowed your shirt to wear? It’s cold downstairs in the kitchen.’ She gave a slight shiver before taking a sip from her own steaming mug of coffee.
Fergus stared at her, not sure whether he wanted her to sit with him or not.
She had been roaming around the house, rooting around in the kitchen to find the makings of the coffee, obviously wearing nothing but his shirt! It was just as well it was Maud’s day off! His housekeeper was perfectly aware of his bachelor lifestyle, but that didn’t mean he had to flaunt it in her face.
Fergus turned away, ostensibly to pick up his own coffee and take a sip, but in actuality it was to give him a few more seconds’ thinking space. Except that it didn’t. By moving, he had discovered he was completely naked beneath the bedclothes!
Not that he should have been surprised by the fact, he realised dully. He didn’t remember meeting this woman, didn’t remember coming home with her, so why should he remember taking his clothes off?
There was, however, one undeniable truth to this situation: this woman—whoever she was—had obviously spent the night here. With him. In this bed. And he didn’t remember a thing about that, either!
Not even her name…
How the hell had this happened? Too much champagne on an empty stomach, came the obvious answer.
He remembered leaving the wedding reception. He vaguely recalled going on to the nightclub. After that—nothing!
“‘Thank you, Chloe”,’ she mocked behind him. ‘You’re welcome, Fergus,’ she answered liltingly.
Chloe. Her name was Chloe, he acknowledged with some relief. But he didn’t—
Yes, he did. Some of it was coming back to him now. The nightclub. She had come over and spoken to him. Sat with him, even though he had been less than enthusiastic. Had drunk with him. Gone to bed with him…?
Somehow he seemed to have missed something between drinking the champagne at the nightclub last night and waking up to find her in his bedroom this morning. He didn’t remember the two of them going to bed together at all, let alone—let alone—
How the hell did he get himself out of this one? He groaned inwardly. One thing was certain: he was never going to drink champagne—or anything else!—to excess, again.
‘Er—Chloe…?’ He turned slowly, slightly more awake now, blinking dazedly as he took in this woman’s delicate beauty.
She was so tiny. The hands that were cupped about her coffee mug were almost like a child’s. Hands that were bare of rings, Fergus noticed with a certain amount of relief; at least he didn’t find himself in this predicament with a married woman!
But that it was a predicament, he was in no doubt. How on earth were you supposed to behave towards a woman with whom you had obviously spent the night in bed—a night you didn’t remember? An apology didn’t seem to exactly fit the bill!
‘It’s good coffee,’ he said inanely instead.
‘Thank you,’ she accepted warmly, putting her empty mug down. ‘I simply can’t tell you how wonderful it was to meet you last night, Fergus,’ she added a little shyly
It was…?
Personally, he wouldn’t have thought himself capable of giving of his best in the condition he had been in last night, but who was he to argue if she—?
Damn it, it wasn’t a question of arguing; he simply didn’t
