Secrets of a Hollywood Matchmaker: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy (Backstage Romance Book 2) by Gigi Blume

Author:Gigi Blume [Blume, Gigi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sodasac Press
Published: 2019-12-22T16:00:00+00:00

17

ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

Emma

I remembered there was mist... but instead of a boat, my dark knight brought me to his lair in a Tesla. The details of how I arrived were spotty at best, but I had vague moments of lucidity in which he swept me into his arms and carried me to safety. I also knew where I was with succinct clarity. I’d felt alone in that cold spare bedroom and had climbed under Jaxson’s warm covers and easily fell asleep, enveloped in his scent.

As I padded around the sunlit bungalow in search of him, I found him outside, hosing the residue of my vomit from his car. Unfortunately, the memory of how it got there didn’t elude me: how I’d hung my head out the window and puked gloriously into the night. I was mortified. Jaxson shouldn’t have to clean up my mess.

“I’m sorry.” I figured it was a more appropriate greeting than good morning in this circumstance. He smiled brightly and shut off the hose with a sunny cheerfulness. There was a bounce to his step as if cleaning up my unmentionable body fluids was the perfect start to his Sunday morning. Forget yoga on the beach or golf, let’s hose Emma’s barf into the bushes for fun. He might have even been whistling while he was at it.

His gaze raked over me and took me in, pinning me to the threshold of his front door. There was an easy possessiveness to it, like we were playing house, and I was his little lady. He reached me in a few long strides. A grin played on his features with a secret only he knew. I’d be lying if I said the look he gave me didn’t make my heart gallop in my chest and jump to my throat. His steps didn’t falter when he was within speaking range, in fact he continued toward me until he was mere inches away, backing me up to the door frame without even touching me. He leaned in and rested his hand on the wall next to my head and smelled... smelled... me. I was instantaneously self-conscious of how well I may or may not have cleaned myself up last night. I half-expected him to cringe, or cry ‘Good grief, woman, take a shower!’. But instead, his grin grew exponentially, and he drawled, “Good morning, Emma. Feeling better?”

Gah! I melted into a pool of lava on his Mi Casa Es Tu Casa welcome mat. In my defence, however, the man was in quite a state of undress. He wore what I surmised were his pyjama bottoms and... nothing else. Beads of water from the hose overspray spangled his form from the tips of his hair to his bare feet. My gaze followed a single droplet make its way down his collarbone, over the curve of a very impressive peck, along the ridges and valleys of maddeningly defined abs and then disappear into his waistband. Maybe he shouldn’t have turned off that hose; I needed a splash in the face.

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