Only You - Lord of the Manor book 1

Chapter 20

Ouch!

I squint at the bombardment of light that's hammering at my sensitive eyes and snap them shut again. Oh, that hurts. Shuffling onto my side, I immediately realise that I'm not in my own bed. My eyes fly open, and I sit up. Oh, ouch!

My hands grip my head to try and ease the pain. It doesn't work. Short of shooting my brain out, nothing is going to alleviate the thumping. This is a non-curable hangover. I know it.

I gaze around the room, recognising my surroundings immediately. I'm in the master suite of Lusso. Okay, I'm at a total loss at how I come to be here. I've never been so drunk that my memory has failed me. I try retracing my night, instantly remembering Harry roughing up poor Cockney. Then I remember dancing. I also remember arguing with Harry in the toilets. And then I remember dancing again. Oh, and I remember Tom having a hissy fit, but then...nothing.

I would ask myself how I come to be here, but I really don't need to ask that question if Harry was in the bar. I grasp the bedding, lifting the sheets to look under the covers. Well, I have my underwear on, so I can't imagine any Harry style fucking went down. I smile to myself.

Oh Lord, I need a toothbrush and some water, pronto. I gingerly push myself up, untangling myself from the bedding as I go, revelling in the waft of Harry's scent as it hits my nostrils. Every slight movement crashes into my poor head. When I'm on my feet, stood in just my underwear, I stagger. I'm still drunk.

'And how is my boy lush this morning?' His voice is smug. Why didn't he stop me drinking? He saunters over to me, looking too fucking delicious in his tight, white boxer shorts and with his morning messy hair. I know I probably look awful.

'Terrible.' I confess moodily. Was that me speaking? I'm throaty. I hear him chuckle to himself. If I could coordinate my movements, I would swing at him. I feel his arms wrap around me, and I'm thankful for the support. I bury my head in his chest and could, quite easily, drift back off to sleep.

'Do you want some breakfast?' he asks, stroking my hair. Even his soft rubs against my skull are unbearably loud, and I nearly vomit at the thought of food. He must feel my dry heaves and body jerks because he laughs again. 'Just some water then?'

'Please.' I mumble into his chest.

'Come here.' He scoops me up and carries me downstairs to the kitchen, placing me on the worktop gently.

'Oh!' Shit, that's cold!

He laughs, easing his grip away slowly, like he's afraid I might fall off. I might do, I feel God awful. I grab the edge of the worktop to steady myself and watch, through half open eyes, as Harry opens almost every cupboard in the kitchen before he finds the one with the glasses in.

'You don't know where you keep your own glasses?'

He rummages through a drawer, pulling out a white sachet. 'I'm learning. My housekeeper tried to tell me, but I was a little distracted.' He rips the sachet open and tips it into a glass. The muscles of his back roll as he gets a bottle of water from the fridge, filling the glass quickly, before walking back over to me. 'Alka-Seltzer. It'll sort you out within half an hour. Drink,'

I reach to take it from him, but my arms won't liaise with my brain. Without a word, he moves between my thighs and lifts the glass to my lips for me. I guzzle the lot.

'More?'

I shake my head. 'I'm never drinking again.' I mumble, falling forward onto his chest.

'That would please me so much. You're very argumentative when you're drunk.' He strokes my back.