Our Kind of Love

By: Victoria Purman



‘It’s a long story. But calm down, Anna. Lizzie won’t care.’

Anna’s blood pressure spiked and pounded behind her eyes. She sat bolt upright and the crisp sheet slipped down into her lap. She tugged it back up with a jerk. The move seemed to have some mysterious effect on Joe. He let go of the door and took a step back to the bed, his hands on his hips.

Vafunculo. Anna began miming furiously and if Joe had any clue about what she was indicating, he would’ve been protecting his manhood at that very moment, instead of letting it proudly dangle free right in front of her eyes.

Anna dropped back onto the pillow and pulled the sheet way over her head.

Joe was Lizzie’s brother?

Lizzie. The kind woman who’d found her crying in the ladies’ loo the night before.

Joe was Lizzie’s brother? This circle of humiliation just got smaller and smaller. Anna’s heart raced even faster. Given the fact that they clearly weren’t alone, she couldn’t leap out of bed and demand an answer from the beautiful man who’d shagged her senseless just hours before. She couldn’t scream and shout, Italian-style, wave her hands in the air and curse him.

Okay, so that was all a cliché. But clichés exist for a reason and she so needed to go wild and crazy Italian-style on the charming bastard who’d put her in this position. Let’s face it – many positions.

‘Stay there,’ Joe said, and held out a hand to emphasise his point. Damn him, he was trying not to smile. ‘I’ll go distract her.’

‘Okay. But, for God’s sake,’ Anna whispered with new urgency. ‘Put on some pants first.’

He obeyed her with a smug smile, bending over to retrieve the trousers of his suit. He half-heartedly pulled them on but didn’t bother to do up the top button, which meant they slipped and hung low on his hips. Not that Anna noticed exactly how low they were but for a moment she was worried he might get something important caught in the zip and might therefore need her medical expertise.

With a smile at the knowledge that she was checking him out all over again, he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Anna sank back into the pillows. How had she got here? And where exactly was here? In the daylight it was totally obvious. A quick inspection revealed it was a woman’s room. Shabby beachside chic. A well-thumbed novel on the bedside table. A pair of pink thongs neatly arranged on the rug, a white chest of drawers with framed photos on top. She’d been oblivious to all this detail when they’d stumbled back the night before, crashed onto the bed and into each other lips and hips.

It had been dark when they’d got home from the wedding, which was a university reunion   of sorts as well as a party at the Middle Point pub. She’d known the groom, Ry Blackburn, and the best man, Dan McSwaine, when they’d been university students. Dan had been her first boyfriend, although they’d been friends way longer than they’d been lovers. Julia Jones had been a gorgeous bride and Lizzie – the sister – was both bridesmaid and Dan’s new girlfriend. Lizzie had been her rescuer; when Anna had told her the reason for the tears, Lizzie had said all the things a jilted woman needed to hear.

When Anna had finally emerged from the loo, her mascara restored if not her dignity, a guy with a smile that could melt ice offered her a glass of champagne and then asked her to dance.

Somehow dancing had ended up as something else entirely. Had ended up as this. She yanked the sheet over her head.

‘Oh. My. God. What have I done? And why did it have to be with him?’

Joe’s sexy eyes and tall, well-built body had been irresistible in the dark. Now, in the harsh Sunday morning light, they were simply ripped reminders of her shame and disgrace.

The cold, hard truth of what she’d done was like a slap in the face.

She’d had a one-night stand with a guy she’d picked up at a wedding.

And she was married.

Well … legally still married

And now utterly humiliated.

She reached for the St Christopher medal hanging around her neck, twisted it between her fingers for luck. For help. For advice.

How was she going to get out of this?

And more importantly, how would she hide it from her mother?

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