"That's okay." She climbs off the bed, grabbing her shorts and top. "I loved being with you, Ben. Glad you got stranded."
"Me too."
She sashays back down the hallway, veering into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I hear her go into her bedroom.
And I just lie here on the sofa bed, gazing up at the ceiling and wondering what just happened. I sort of had sex with a girl I just met. This day has been insane, so I can't be entirely sure I haven't dreamed the whole thing. Samantha Lockhart can't be real. No girl has ever done anything like that with me. I mean, I can't get a leg over with any woman unless I bring out a condom so they can see it and watch me put it on to be sure I won't do anything sneaky. Yeah, the women I've dated have been paranoid, but I overlooked that as being the fault of all those wankers who don't care about the girls they shag. They just want to get off.
Sam and I had done that all right. But I want more.
Maybe that town she mentioned has a store where I can buy condoms.
No, I should leave as soon as possible and get my arse to Chance's house. Everything that happened tonight will become a strange and wonderful memory. I know I can't hide out at Chance's forever because my mother will track me down eventually and abduct me back to Mithoria for another round of "who wants to marry a crown prince."
Bugger me.
I pull the covers over myself—all the way over, with my face under the sheet—and try not to think about anything.
Except for Samantha Lockhart.
Chapter Four
Sam
I wake up the next morning feeling fantastic. Why? Having sex with a stranger shouldn't leave me invigorated, but it does. We only halfway had sex, I suppose, but it still felt incredible. Ben is so damn hot, and he rocks oral sex. I'd love to find out how good he is at the full-on version, but I know he must have someplace to be since he doesn't live in this area. He said he lives in England, though he was cagey about that last night. He didn't dress for backwoods adventure either, which explains how he got all soppy after falling into a snowdrift. I get the impression he has no idea what winter is like in New Hampshire.
Maybe he's never seen snow before. Do they get much of that in England?
After rising and shining, I amble into the living room. Ben has already stowed away the sofa bed, but I don't see him until I reach the kitchen. He's standing on the other side of the bar doing something on the stove. Is he cooking breakfast? None of the men I've dated ever did that. Their idea of making breakfast is to hand me a toaster pastry or a slice of cold pizza.
"Good morning," I say as I approach the bar.
Ben smiles at me over his shoulder. "Good morning. Hope you like sausage, eggs, and toast. I wanted to make you a full English breakfast, but you don't seem to have any baked beans, bacon, or tomatoes."
"That's okay. What you're making smells yummy." I hop onto a stool and study him while he focuses on the frying pan, stirring the food. "Do you seriously eat all that for breakfast? Sounds like a lot of food."
"Not every day. But I enjoy a good full English now and then."
"Don't think Americans have a universal meal. We all do our own thing. My grandfather used to love steak and eggs, but that's way too much for me to eat in the morning."
He glances at me, smiling again, and it's the cutest expression. "Sounds like your grandfather would've fit right in with my family." He nods toward the counter to his left. "I made coffee. Couldn't find any tea."
"So you Brits honestly do love your tea, hey?"
"Yes. Though my mother prefers black coffee in the morning."
I guess we've decided to talk about food to avoid the topic of what we did last night. Sooner or later, though, we'll have to discuss it. Like adults. Calmly and rationally. But I don't feel rational at all when I'm within kissing distance of Ben Montague.
The sunrise shines through the picture window in the living room, painting everything in shades of pink and gold. The blizzard has ended, for sure, which means Ben will leave soon. Can't decide how I feel about that.
"Where are you headed?" I ask. "Assuming the roads are clear."
"A little town called Hartmoor. My mate Chance and his wife have lent me their house for the holidays. They've gone off to Switzerland."
"I've never been to Hartmoor, but I hear it's beautiful up there. Must be about thirty miles to the northwest."
Ben twists his mouth into the most endearing expression of disgust—aimed at himself, I think. "I cocked it up thoroughly, didn't I? Thirty miles off course? Good thing you found me, or I'd have died of frostbite."
"Glad I could be there to rescue you."