McKettricks of Texas: Garrett by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HQN
Published: 2010-04-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JULIE LAY PERFECTLY STILL, her eyes closed, reorienting herself. It was a slow process, grasping at wispy fragments of consciousness, trying to fit them into some sensible pattern.

She wasn’t in her usual bed—which wasn’t her usual bed, either, to be perfectly accurate—the directions and the angles were all wrong.

And then it all fell into place, and Julie sucked in a sharp breath.

Oh, God. She’d had sex with Garrett McKettrick—crazy, sweaty, unbridled, consequences?—what consequences?—sex.

Now, the proverbial chickens had come home to roost. It was time to pay the piper, face the music.

Welcome to the dreaded Morning After.

The mattress shifted. “Open your eyes,” Garrett drawled. He smelled of soap and aftershave, and his breath was minty.

Julie was fairly certain hers wasn’t.

He knew she was awake—there was no point in trying to fake it so he’d go away and leave her alone long enough to get her act together.

Not that she had any idea how to go about doing that, at the present moment, at least.

“Julie?”

She opened her eyes. Wide.

Garrett was so close that their noses were almost touching.

“Mornin’,” he said, one corner of his mouth crooking upward in a teasing grin.

“Mmmm,” Julie said, with a nod, clasping one hand over her mouth. “Breath,” she explained, through her fingers.

Garrett chuckled, shook his head once, and placed a brief, smacking kiss on her forehead before rolling off the bed and landing on his feet with that grace peculiar to people who’ve spent a lot of time on horses, cowboys in particular.

He was wearing jeans and nothing else.

Tossing her a blue cotton bathrobe, heretofore draped over the back of a leather-upholstered wingback chair, he said, “Coffee’s almost ready.”

The moment he left the room, Julie pulled the robe under the covers, wriggled herself into it, and even tied the belt before throwing back the blankets to rise.

Given that the horse was already out of the barn, she thought ruefully, it was a little late to be closing the barn door.

Garrett’s bathroom was large, and there was travertine tile everywhere—on the walls and the floor and the long counter with two bronze sinks set into it. The matching faucets, beautifully cast, were shaped like horses’ heads, and although Julie quickly found a new toothbrush and toothpaste in a drawer, it took her a while to figure out how to turn on the water.

Once she’d accomplished that, she scrubbed her teeth with a fury.

A sound startled her—a masculine rap of knuckles on wood.

Julie went to the door, opened it an inch and peeked out.

Garrett was standing there, holding a neat stack of folded clothing. Jeans. A lightweight gray sweatshirt. Socks and even underwear.

Julie recognized the garments—vaguely—as her own things.

He chuckled, noting her reluctance to open up.

This was, after all, his bathroom. And it wasn’t as if she had anything he hadn’t already seen. She was behaving like an idiot, and she couldn’t seem to help it.

“Don’t you want to get dressed?” he asked.

Julie flushed, nodded, opened the door just far enough to reach out and grab her clothing.

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