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Stevie huddled, shivering, under her house-swap’s thickest duvet.
When she’d left LA for her ‘holiday’ near London, nobody warned her the heating hadn’t been updated in centuries. Nor that it was a ‘flat’ in a crumbling Victorian mansion, with traffic roaring by constantly.
Not that she’d sleep tonight. It was 4pm back home! She might’ve placed half the world between her and Jason, but sleeplessness still equalled wrathful pining…
A door rattled.
Crap! What was that?
The flat’s front door creaked open. In the half-light, her frantic gaze alighted on a hockey-stick. What were the laws on self-defence in this crappy country? She hid behind the bedroom door, waited till they neared, then…
Crack!
“Bloody Hell!” yelped the burglar. Stevie had—stupidly?—not hit hard. Chiefly, because the guy was sexy-as-fuck. “You’re not Chrissy!”
“Chrissy? No, I’m—”
“World-famous supermodel Stevie Harrington! Why are you in my sister’s flat?”
“Your sister?” The hockey-stick slipped from her trembling hands. He’d got long dark hair and obscenely beautiful eyes.
He rattled a door-key: “See?”
“Oh shit,” she mumbled. “Not a burglar.”
“No. Um, sorry, but I’m inordinately pissed and… really need the loo.” He grimaced, hopping toe-to-toe. “May I?”
When he returned, she gave him ice for his bruise, and he slumped on the sofa. After learning about the house-swap, Eddie—as he introduced himself over brandy—explained how Chrissy wanted to escape her loneliness following a break-up.
“Yeah,” sighed Stevie. “I relate.”
Eddie’s sad smile touched and intrigued her. Before she dared ask, he winced at his cell. “Ten missed calls from Chrissy. I’m a terrible brother.”
“Yeah? I should sue her for false advertising.” Stevie sat down beside him to share the house-swap pics, which he explained were taken on a rare snow-day.
“Seriously, you’re not gonna sue her?”
Her turn to wince. He was intense, clearly super-protective of Chrissy, which made her sigh inwardly. He was literally the anti-Jason. “I won’t. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Please yourself. Honestly, South London is cool. Jude Law grew up nearby.” Stevie shrugged. “The Stones? David Bowie?”
“Bowie? Wow!”
Eddie’s smile finally lit those eyes. He sent a Bowie playlist to Chrissy’s speakers, while leaning dangerously into Stevie’s personal space. Or was she being pulled, magnet-like, into his?
Warmth blossomed in her chest, radiated out with every beat of her heart. They were laughing and joking and… her focus flitted to Eddie’s lush lips.
His slid… lower.
“Honestly,” he said, in that totally-growing-on-her accent, “these days, Bromley is considered pretty desirable.”
He stared so hard at her cleavage, she gasped.
“Sorry.” He discarded his brandy, pinched his brow. “This is weird. Me hanging with Stevie Harrington.”
Stevie sighed. “You think I’m shorter in real life?” It was one of Jason’s fave put-downs.
“No.” That smile again, and she was dying happy. “The biggest surprise is your Winnie-the-Pooh PJs. I pictured you sleeping in baby-doll lingerie.”
Stevie blinked. He pictured that BEFORE we met?
Okay, she'd modelled slinky stuff, but… Dammit, she’d barely had time to be embarrassed about Pooh.
“This was gonna be a ‘me-break,’” she flustered. “Wasn’t expecting company.”
“Yeah, sorry. Again. Um… can I kip on the couch? Be gone before you wake.”
If Stevie had worn her matching Pooh slippers, her heart would’ve plummeted through them. Then instantly skyrocketed. Eddie leaned waaaay too close again. Trouble was, even his beer-breath proved alluring.
“Yeah, fine,” she stammered. “Tho’ this sofa is tiny, and…” She brushed her mouth against Eddie’s, the whispering ghost of a kiss.
“W-wow?” stuttered Eddie.
She licked her lips. He tasted boozy, but she liked. And omfg, what had come over her? Her knuckles caressed his cheek, trembling like she was the drunk one. “I’ve never kissed a stranger before.”
His flirtatious snicker warmed-up long-neglected places inside her. “Really? I do it all the time.”
They tumbled into the next kiss, which heated, sizzled, lingered smoochily, till she asked, breathless: “Seeing as you’re super-hot, and I’m leaving tomorrow… we should have sex.”
“Stevie, you’re the hottest girl in the world—sure you’re not a dream?”
They barely reached Chrissy’s bed before they fucked, with Bowie’s ‘Heroes’ cheering them on. Stevie had never done anything this spontaneous. And, for someone ‘sozzled’, Eddie sure knew how to please a partner… over and over and over.
Eventually, Stevie watched him sleep, cursing her surging 'feels.'
This heartache was crazy. Why couldn’t she enjoy a one-night stand? Eddie seemed sweet. Also, a stranger! She was on the rebound, still kinda pining… or was she?
Honestly, she felt closer to Eddie already than she ever had to Jason.
Stevie, you’re jet-lagged and over-emotional. Go home. To a fresh start.
And nope, she couldn’t make that new life here.
Next morning, Eddie apologised about basically everything.
“Chill,” said Stevie breezily, over their Deliveroo banana-chocolate crepes. “I had fun.”
Not gonna be clingy and tragic.
“Still leaving?” he asked, doe-eyed.
She nodded. Her chest panged, and it didn’t help that Eddie resembled a kicked puppy. He fluffed his hair, awkward.
“Stevie, listen. Firstly, that ex of yours who said you sucked at sex? He’s a liar. Secondly, my life is really complicated.” Indeed, his cell bleeped with messages all night. Another reason Stevie’s ‘feels’ were madness. “But… if you change your mind, I’m having dinner later at the pub on the corner.”
The hug, and their tender farewell kiss, choked her up. Shit, she never fucking cried!
Her limo sat in traffic for two hours on its way to the airport. Three more, after Stevie demanded the driver turn back. In the pub, she got tons of stares in her cute cocktail-dress and even signed some autographs. When Eddie finally arrived, his surprised smile was beyond delicious.
“Hey,” she said, deserting her Chardonnay.
“Hello, Gorgeous.” He slid his hand to her waist, drawing her into a sensual kiss that was somehow comfortably familiar and the most startling, exciting thing ever.
She was definitely gonna stay the whole two weeks. Then… who knew?