of the run up to Christmas and long enough to see if I can make it work.’
Lara gave the tea a final stir. Busying herself in the kitchen was an autopilot way of taking her mind off how much tinier the already minuscule flat suddenly felt with him in it. Small it might be but it had still been at the absolute limit of what she could afford. Desperate to give everything to the pop-up shop opportunity, she’d quickly realised that living nearby would be a huge advantage. Failure was absolutely not an option.
She’d give him the tea and then try to track down Izzy. The thought of having him here under her feet all day made her stomach feel squiggly. She had tons of work to do and she’d lost nearly an hour this morning already to first his noise and now the follow-up chaos. She didn’t have time to step in as rescue party for neighbours. She turned back to cross the room to him. Three paces in and she came to a stop, smile fading from her face, mug of tea in each hand.
He was fast asleep.
He looked completely out of place among the frills, ribbons and lace that festooned the sofa. He had the most tightly honed muscular physique she’d ever seen outside a glossy fashion magazine, his shoulders were huge, his abs perfectly defined. One huge hand rested against his chiselled jaw as if he’d been propping his chin up when he nodded off.
She watched him for a moment. In sleep the defensive expression on his face when he’d given her his half-arsed apology for the noise was nowhere to be seen. The dark hair was dry now, the short cut totally in keeping with his military background; she could easily imagine him in uniform. The face below was classically handsome. His cheekbones were sharply defined, followed up with a firm jawline and strong mouth. Her eyes roamed lower and she caught her breath in surprise.
The upstairs landing was pretty shadowy and he’d been turned away from her for much of the time. Add in the fact that she’d been making a heroic effort to keep her eyes from wandering below his neckline and as a result she only now got a proper view of his body. A twist of sympathy surged through her.
The left-hand side of the tautly muscled chest was heavily puckered and ruched with a web of scar tissue. She pressed her lips together hard. Of course she’d heard from Poppy that Alex had been injured in action but, having heard and seen the evidence of his sexual prowess, she’d assumed whatever had happened to him must have been pretty minor.
Whatever had happened to cause that scarring could most certainly not be pretty minor.
She put the two mugs down on the edge of the sewing table and moved closer to him, hand outstretched towards his shoulder to shake him gently awake, and then her eyes stuttered over the shadows beneath the dark eyelashes. He looked exhausted, and no wonder. From what she knew of him, he barely ever slept. His breathing now was rested and even. She withdrew her hand. Why not let him sleep? Yes, she could try and contact Izzy or Poppy, but really she’d wasted enough time today already on this situation.
She tugged the multi-coloured patchwork throw from the side of the sofa. Her foster mother had made it for her and it was deliciously huge and comforting to snuggle into. She tucked it gently over him. He didn’t even stir.
Five minutes later and she had her own mug of tea at her elbow as she got back to her sewing. She had the finishing touches to do on fifty-odd pairs of silk knickers. And that was just for starters.
It felt as if hours had passed when a moan of distress made her foot slip from the pedal of the sewing machine. She’d been so engrossed in her work that she’d almost forgotten she had a house guest. The room had grown dark now in the late afternoon; the small light from the sewing machine and the angled lamp above her workspace were the only sources of light. She stood up and looked curiously at Poppy’s brother, sprawled in the shadows on the sofa. Deciding she must have imagined it, she moved to sit back down.
He twisted in his sleep.
She frowned. Abandoning her chair, she took a step towards him. His hands were twisting in the throw she’d draped over him and he let out another cry. Almost a shout this time, enough to make her jump. She watched his face as it contorted. Sympathy twisted in her stomach as she caught sight again of his scarred chest in the dim light. Where was he right now in his mind? In the middle of some hideous battle?
His body twisted sharply again and she couldn’t stand it any longer. She reached out to shake him awake, to take him away from whatever horror he was reliving.
First there was the vague impression of something stroking his upper arm. Tentative, not rough. And then there was the scent, something clean and flowery, like roses. It reminded Alex vaguely of his mother’s dressing room back at their country home, with its antique dressing table and ornate perfume bottles and he flinched at the thought. It had been years since he’d visited the family home and he had absolutely no plans to do so in the foreseeable future. Why would he? For a place filled on and off with so many people, so many offshoots of the family, it had been bloody lonely for a kid.
He opened his eyes, disorientation making his mind reel.
He struggled to place himself in a panic. Not his army quarters. And not his room in his sister’s flat, with its calming military organisation. Instead he was in a room that could only really be described as a boudoir. And it was getting dark.
He struggled to his feet, his mind whirling. Of course, he’d been locked out of Poppy’s flat and the downstairs neighbour had offered to make him tea. That was the last thing he remembered. He looked down at himself as the quilt covering him fell away and saw that the towel around his hips was hanging askew. He snatched it closed again. Horrified, he realised he’d been sleeping here in a stranger’s flat with his scars on show for her to view at her leisure.
The blonde neighbour was standing a few feet away, an expression of concern on her pretty face. The sewing machine was lit up on the desk by a bright angled lamp. A neatly folded pile of pink silk lay further down the table. A tentative smile touched the corners of her rosebud mouth.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘You were …’ a light frown touched her eyebrows ‘… calling out in your sleep.’
The heat of humiliation began at his neck and climbed burningly upwards as he regained a grip on reality. He’d had a nightmare. In full view of her. Had he shouted? What had he said? How could he have been so stupid as to let himself fall asleep here?
‘What time is it?’ he managed, rubbing a hand through his hair as if it might somehow help to clear his foggy head.
‘Nearly six,’ she said. ‘I was just about to wake you. Poppy’s home, I think—I heard her go up the stairs to the flat. So you should be able to get back in now.’
Six?
He’d slept the entire day. He avoided her eyes. What must she think of him, just falling asleep like that? And then having a bad dream, like some kid. He couldn’t quite believe that he could relax enough to fall asleep in a strange place with a strange person. His tiredness must be a lot more ingrained than he’d thought it was.
‘I can’t believe I fell asleep,’ he blustered. ‘You should have woken me.’
‘I couldn’t really believe it either,’ she said. ‘Of course I think my business plan is the most interesting topic of discussion on the planet.’ She smiled. ‘But it made you nod off in the space of about ten minutes.’
He shook his head. What the hell must she be thinking?
‘I’m
