Oh, and the brunette curls strewn haphazardly over my belly, attached to a body that was huddled under my painfully thin comforter. I didn’t blame her. April in London was a cruel mistress, and my bank account didn’t run to fancy threads.
Yet.
The important word was yet.
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But I had bigger concerns than my flat not being up to a spread in Architectural Digest. Such as the slanted window above my bed slowly, carefully being slid open.
Panic made my throat close. Was this about my jumping the gun earlier? I’d moved faster than we’d planned, but my instincts had never failed me.
Another yet.
But no, this wasn’t Jerry’s style. He would come at me straightaway, not sneak in.
I jerked up onto my elbows and tossed my hair out of my eyes as a dark shadow crossed over the bed. Buggering bastard was actually going to try to make a go of it with me laying right here? Me and two undoubtedly sated women, who would go to their certain deaths happy if not old.
Not going to happen.
I nudged aside the blond—Natasha, I was almost sure—with some soft words of comfort. I was tempted to tell her to get some clothes on over what had to be glorious curves, though that was supposition at best. I couldn’t quite remember every step of the events that had led to this place. There had been music. Always music. Some singing on stage in a dank little pub. A round of drinks, bought by me though I could ill-afford them. Then these two lovely ladies had approached me, circling me with such precision that I’d half wondered if they were picking my pockets while charming me with their coy, cunning tongues.
And not just in their words.
The brunette lifted her head and pinned me with sleepy eyes of unknown color in the murky light. I was almost positive we hadn’t had sex, despite the time spent in my cups. So maybe the idea of them being sated was a lie.
Not the first I’d told, even in my own head. Also would not be the last.
I did not remember the brunette’s name. Maybe Tammy? Tamara? Something like that. I hadn’t invited her to disrobe, but when she rose up on her knees and looked up at the window above us, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I heard angels sing.
And lookee there, the shadow disappeared from the window.
I smiled triumphantly and sat up to grab a handful of the brunette’s hair. “Chased him off right quick now, didn’t you?” I gave her a hard kiss, breaking it off at the sound of footsteps outside my door—and the unmistakable growl coming from the other side of my bed.
Natasha apparently didn’t appreciate me showing my gratitude to her mate.
“I’m just thanking your friend for distracting that bloke up there. Didn’t you see him in the window?”
Now he was probably lurking in the hallway, but she didn’t seem to care.
“She’s not my friend. She’s me sister!”
Oh. Oops.
I smiled at the brunette and moved back up the bed, a good sight away from them both since the blond was now splitting her glare between me and her sister. She was also naked.
Good Christ, had I gotten supremely lucky last night and was too wasted to even remember it?
Sated, not sated, I couldn’t make up my mind. And my memory wasn’t helping.
I’d celebrated after the talent show, then the late night impromptu set at the bar. Drinking and fraternizing. I’d smoked a spliff or two, but I shouldn’t be this confused. I could hold my liquor and handle my smoke. At least I could before the Olson twins.
Were they fraternal? My dick stirred despite the awkward situation and my possible demise. Lord save me, that was hot.
“You can’t be serious.” Natasha’s annoyance was painfully clear as she stared down the sudden flag waving from my bedsheets.
I shrugged. What did they expect? Breasts and cunts all over the place. That they were angry—well, Natasha was, Tammy just looked confused—just made it all the more exciting.
I was a sick motherfucker.