his way through the crowd to her. She still hadn’t gotten over their last encounter when he’d laughed his head off after his floozy had caught a whiff of her stash.
And with Tom and Rose spending every night together at the flat with that sickly, loved-up couple thing they had going on, she realized that soon they’d either ask her to move out or she’d end up the oldest, rustiest third wheel that ever existed. She couldn’t imagine them moving to Tom’s rental when Rose’s parents had bought her the flat.
But worst of all, Rose had asked her to be the maid of honour, and how could she say no to her best friend because she didn’t think Tom was good enough? She wasn’t a complete bitch. No way would she have ruined her friend’s special night. Natalie was just grateful that, despite the fact she’d planned a dozen or so stellar weddings, Tom was so much of a control freak he’d want to organise it himself.
She really didn’t think she’d have been able to deal with it if she’d been assigned the wedding planner role. At least now all she had to worry about was the actual day and she could avoid Tom as much as possible until then.
So, business as usual.
‘That doesn’t look big enough to hide ten pounds of beef hors d’oeuvres.’
Natalie looked up to catch a glimpse of Mr Perfect’s smug grin. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
Of course she did, but she had known tonight that meals would be served and she couldn’t exactly stuff slices of turkey, stuffing balls and roast potatoes all swimming in gravy into her handbag. Especially not when there were thirty or so other people at the table.
‘Oh I think you do. And I know what your game is,’ he said, suffocating her personal space with his Lynx effect cologne and his massive-up-close body.
‘I don’t play games.’ Now run off and annoy someone else.
He laughed a little, and the sound just wound her up again.
‘You’re obviously new to this, but I could tell what you are a mile off. Just a head’s up, this area is my turf and two strangers at a party this small will get noticed,’ he said.
What she was? Like she was some desperate, starving cow who crashed parties without a cover or having done her research? ‘You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about and anyway, I didn’t see you pee on the walls so what makes you think this bar belongs to you?’
That got the grin off his face. Natalie smiled as sweetly as she could, then stood up and shoved past him. ‘If you’re so worried about being caught, the door’s that way.’ She gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. ‘I’d say I’d miss you, but …’
With that she slinked away from him, swept up a free glass of champagne, necked it and headed for the dancefloor. She melded into a group of guys and girls effortlessly, the people were too drunk to ask any questions. They were all about the dancing and rounds of shots were brought over, so she helped herself to a few of those too.
The bastard didn’t leave, just skulked at the bar with a glass of something brown – not that she was looking out for him. And what was all that rubbish about strangers getting noticed? There were a good thirty people at the party – not to mention the bar was now open to the public after the meal – and the vast majority were smashed. Natalie doubted they’d notice the arrival of the entire Manchester United football team at this point.
As she tried not to get angry at Mr Smug Bastard, the hottie she’d sat next to at dinner joined her on the dancefloor.
Steven twirled her around and around, and her anger melted into giggles. A few shots later and she was ready to show him some of her more indecent dance moves to Santa Baby.
This was what she’d been waiting for all year, she thought as she was swung around again, laughing along with Steven. This happy, mirthful, floaty feeling surrounded by sparkly decorations in a room bursting with festive cheer.
***
A loud snore against her ear snapped Natalie into consciousness. She was too warm, her skin had a thin sheen of sweat all over and she realized the problem as her ribs were constricted by a manly forearm, and her bum was pressed against a whole lot of naked groin.
And how did she know it was a groin? Because her underwear was gone along with the rest of her clothes. Crap.
Unfortunately, the hazy drunken memory sharpened with crystal clarity and she remembered agreeing to go home with Steven, breaking rule number three. No Going Home With Anyone. It was a must if you wanted to stick to rules one and two. Not to mention the whole potential serial killer issue.
At least he sounded dead to the world. If she was quiet enough, she might be able to get out before the sun rose and brought questions she didn’t want to answer. Not that she could remember him being that interested in who she was last night, but the lack of alcohol and a strange woman in his bed might make Steven a bit more courteous.
Carefully she slid out of his hold, wishing the pounding of her heart wasn’t so loud in her ears, but a quick glance over her shoulder told her he was still asleep. Steven was definitely a looker with his light brown hair ruffled from, well, probably her fingers grabbing onto it. And he had a lovely jaw line that was as smooth as a baby’s, so thankfully stubble burn wasn’t going to be an issue. He didn’t look much older than her in sleep, but he probably had a good few years on her.
Still, one-nighters were supposed to be confined to impersonal places. To come back to his house, alone, was crazy. Rose would go bananas if she knew. Though, she realized with a twist in her gut, her friend might just be relieved she wasn’t at the flat getting in the way of all the romance.
Shaking off the thought, she re-focused on an escape route and climbed out of the bed. A sharp pain cut into her foot and she hissed a chorus of ows as she plonked back down. Rubbing the sole, she glared at the belt buckle on the floor then froze as the snoring cut off on a grunt.
Behind her, Steven rolled onto his stomach and reached an arm out, grumbling in his sleep. Dodging out of the way, she was careful not to stand on the buckle again, and tried to remember where her clothes were. She spied silver lace peeking out from beneath a shirt which was abandoned by the door and flushed remembering how those had gotten there.
Natalie swiped up her bra, hooked it on, then snuck out into the hall. Her knickers were by his bedroom door and this time she didn’t let herself remember how those ended up there. Instead she just pulled them on and went on the hunt for the rest of her things.
In the living room she spotted her lovely gold dress, just dumped on the coffee table half balled up and so wrinkled she wanted to kick herself. Not only did it cost more than she made in a month, but it was the most festive dress she owned. She examined it carefully but there were no tears she could see, it just badly needed ironing.
She turned on a lamp and the room illuminated. Everything became clear from the empty beer cans in the corner to the half-eaten kebab on the arm of a tatty looking green sofa. A total bachelor pad, sans class. Fabulous, she’d gone home with a slob.
A shuffle sounded behind her. With her heart in her throat she spun around to see a guy who was not Steven wearing nothing but his boxers. His frown turned to an astonished blink, then he gave her a good once over. Even with the underwear, she felt utterly naked, so pulled the dress against her front.
As
