Her stomach roiling, she cautiously slid from the bed, tugging the hem of her silky tank into place. She was still wearing her blouse from last night, as well as her skirt. Surely that was a good sign.
It was bad enough to wake up in a place she didn’t recognize. But at least she wasn’t naked to boot. That would bring on a whole new height of alarm.
And she already felt like she was perched on the platform of a high dive.
She took a cautious step on the wood floor, freezing in place when it emitted a soft creak.
She listened intently for a sound in response from beyond the closed bedroom door, but couldn’t hear a thing. Maybe because her head was already filled with the sound of her heart. It was pounding so hard it seemed to reverberate through her chest as well as her aching head.
She realized she was holding her breath when she started to feel dizzy, and she exhaled shakily, which also sounded excessively loud. She took another step. This one was unaccompanied by a creaking floorboard. Then another. And another until she reached the dresser and the silver-framed photo next to a jumble of coins and a half-empty pack of chewing gum.
Her hand was shaking as she carefully reached for the photo to angle it so she could see what it was, but despite all the care she took, she still managed to fumble with the frame and it slid into the change, knocking several pennies and quarters off the side of the dresser. She swore under her breath, hearing the ping as the coins hit the floor and bounced and rolled. She grabbed the picture with both hands, holding it down on the dresser as if the thing were in danger of taking flight.
Considering her clumsiness, maybe it was.
Still, there was no noise from beyond the bedroom door. Feeling weak with relief, alarm and outright disgust with herself, she rested her elbows on the dresser and sucked in unsteady breaths as she studied the photo. It was an old one. She was making that judgment based on the style of clothing the pretty blonde woman wore. She was holding a baby who could have been a boy or a girl—the yellow blanket it was wrapped in gave no clue.
Nell propped her aching head in her hand and closed her eyes again.
Should she just straighten her spine and leave the room to find out where on earth she was? Or should she snoop some more and gird herself with more knowledge before she opened the door?
Snooping was sort of in her nature.
She was a lawyer, after all.
Her fingers toyed with the pull on the dresser drawer. She tugged lightly and the drawer slid open an inch. Another inch. All she gained was a glimpse of white before she heard a thump outside the door that had her hastily closing the drawer.
She whirled so that her back was to the dresser, hiding her shaking hands behind her, and watched the door while her heart hammered and her stomach skittered around uneasily.
She flinched as though she’d been struck when there was a soft knock on the door. One, two, three of them in a quick little row.
Knock-knock-knock.
She chewed the inside of her lip, her breath building and building against the dam inside her chest.
“Nell?” The voice as well as the knock was still soft.
It was also distinctively male.
She clenched her teeth and frowned. The voice was male. Scott’s? She was embarrassed even more that she couldn’t tell for sure. She’d never been to his place, but if this was his home, maybe she wouldn’t have to feel quite so annoyed with herself.
They were dating. More or less. She hadn’t slept with him, though he’d made it plain he was interested.
Her gaze slid guiltily to the bed. The bedding was tumbled. The pillows askew.
Had she slept with him? The state of the bed didn’t give any clue at all.
She rubbed her forehead. Scott had left the bar the night before, though. She didn’t remember him returning. But then again, she didn’t remember a lot of—
“Nell?” The deep voice and the knock were a little louder this time. “You awake yet?”
Scott’s voice wasn’t that deep. Was it?
She shook her head, wishing this was a really bad and really realistic dream. She could feel the ridges of the well-preserved wood beneath her feet, for goodness’ sake!
She stared at the door handle, her mind dancing fatalistically among the nonsensical thoughts, when the voice caused a spark.
A sudden, quick, awful spark of familiarity.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, absolutely no.”
But the doorknob was turning, and she watched it as though the worst sort of slow-motion nightmare she had ever endured was unfolding. Then the door swung open to reveal the owner of the voice.
His green eyes were brilliant and showed no signs whatsoever of his having tied one on the night before. And when he spotted her standing there all frozen with her backside pressed against the drawer she’d peeked into, he arched one of his tawny eyebrows slightly. “Well, well, well, Cornelia,” Archer drawled. “You are awake.”
“You!” Accusation flooded her voice.
His other eyebrow rose, too. “What’d I do?”
She knew her mouth was gaping like a water-starved fish’s. “What didn’t you do?”
He shrugged, which only drew her attention to the breadth of his shoulders beneath the plain white undershirt he was wearing.
He padded barefoot into the room and set the breakfast tray he was holding on top of the dresser. “I’m sure you’ll tell me in several dozen more paragraphs than necessary.” He lifted one of the plain brown mugs from the tray and extended it toward her. “Assume you still like it light and sweet?”
She dragged her eyes up from the slouchy navy-colored pajama pants hanging precariously on his very male hips.
