Reign A Romance Anthology - Nina Levine Page 0,340

face. I blink slowly. “Sorry, Fern, I was miles away.”

“It’s been a rough night for you both. You need some rest too.”

Fern stands up, prompting me to be the gentleman and do the same. “I hear my husband calling me; if you will excuse me.”

I heard nothing.

“Thank you for coming at this time of the morning, interrupting your date night. I am indebted to you both. Please call on me if there is anything I can do to repay you.” I fish a business card out of my wallet and hand it to her. My fingers brush her hand. It is cold.

Ice cold.

Lorcan walks over, taking his wife’s tiny waist in his hand, drawing her up against his body protectively. The look on his face dares me to say what is on my mind.

So I do. “Have you ever seen the movie from many years ago, Twilight?”

“Sir, some things are better left unknown.” I notice Hemsworth likes to deflect.

“Oh, I beg to differ, Hemsworth.” Somewhere in the deep recesses of my memory, I feel like we have danced to this tune already.

“Here, we go again.” Lorcan looks up at the ceiling then back down at me. “I’m not yet ready to trust you with our family secrets, no matter how high the pedestal is that Hemsworth has put you on.”

What the fuck?

“Three… two…”

What was I saying?

5

Queenie

“Don’t hurt me.” I lash out, fighting with everything I’ve got, kicking and thrashing my body.

A weight lands on me, attempting to force me into compliance, but I keep on fighting, trying to buck the solid mass off me. I won’t give in.

“Nooo… get off me,” I cry out in a cocktail of fear and determination, jabbing my elbow as hard as I can into the mass, receiving a curse and grunt in return as we roll about.

“Queenie! Wake up!”

I stop fighting.

“Queenie, you’re dreaming. Be a good girl and open those pretty eyes of yours.”

Strong hands lift me, binding my body against something hard.

“Nooo… STOP!” I’m screaming with everything I have for somebody to save me. Then I’m lashing out, my fist connecting with something above my head.

“Queenie! Enough! Open those damn—”

My eyes flicker open.

My bedside light is on. I’m face to face with the bare-chested guy from last night looking hotter than sin—even with blood dripping from his nose onto my pajamas. Pajamas? I don’t remember putting them on. I don’t remember telling him my name is Queenie.

“You’ve got a mean right upper-cut,” the hot guy says in explanation, getting out of bed to pick up his business shirt and use it to mop at his nose.

His tight black boxers are hanging low on his hips, distracting me while I lock onto the snail-trail of fine hairs pointing like an arrow down to—

“I did this to you?” I’m searching my memory; nausea making me feel queasy. My mouth is dusty, dry. I feel like I have a terrible hangover.

“You had a bad dream.” He frowns, watching me trying to piece the night together while he climbs back in bed, propping himself up against the headboard.

“You’re still here?” Dumb question because I can see he’s still here.

“I am. You needed me.” Did I?

I recall getting up to take the trash out—I bolt upright. Suddenly I’m very awake. Hangover, be damned. “What time is it?” My stepfather is coming home. I don’t want him to find Hot-guy in my bed.

“After eleven in the morning. We let you sleep.”

“We?”

“My friend, Hemsworth, stayed with us.”

“Friend?! With us? We didn’t all”—I wave a hand between the two of us—“menage… threesome?” I would remember doing that, wouldn’t I? There is a blackhole from when I walked Hot-guy up to my room and now.

Hot-guy drills two dimples into his face, making him look even sexier if only he weren’t smiling at me.

Oh, God! I jump out of bed feeling awkward, embarrassed and stumble against my antique dresser, catching myself by planting my palms firmly on the top.

Hot-guy is behind me, helping to steady me. “No threesome, buttercup, only you and me and hot sex.”

Oh, yeah, now it is all coming back to me. Scorching hot sex.

“Sir, if I might be of assistance.” I do a one-eighty ready to lash out again and find the younger (although still old) George Clooney’s doppelganger nervously looking between Hot-guy and me. “Miss, could I bring you a cup of tea?” He’s got a proper Londoner British accent.

“Tea?” I repeat. Stunned, I am getting offered a cup of tea by a George Clooney doppelganger in my