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While She Was Sleeping...
Isabel Sharpe
The Wrong Bed!Alana Hawthorne is asleep. And she’s having what can only be described as the Best Dream Ever. There’s a deliciously hot guy, some pretty incredible moves and a conclusion that makes her toes curl. Mmm… yes! But the next morning Alana is shocked to find her fantasy man – for real – sprawled naked beside her in bed.It only gets worse. The excellently hot Sawyer Kern is her sister’s brand-new boyfriend. The very same guy Alana came by to check on – because Melanie can be just so impulsive. Only now Alana’s really worried. Because gorgeous Sawyer seems to be looking for a repeat performance…
“You’re sleeping in the guest room from now on.”
“So … no chance even for a quickie right now?” Sawyer teased.
Alana’s eyes darkened. “If you keep that up, I’m going to—”
“Tell on me?” Sawyer took another step toward her. Something about her made him edgy and excited. He should just move the rest of his stuff into the guest room and act like a saint.
But he’d never get to touch her again.
Alana glanced to one side, glanced back. Her lips parted.
Where was the outrage now? Swamped by hormones? Was he affecting her the same way she was affecting him?
Worse, her proximity brought back details of the night before. The way she’d arched and moaned, the way her hips had undulated—
“What are you doing?” Her voice came out a cracking whisper. She didn’t move away; her eyes held his.
“Trying to keep my promise.” And failing badly. “Alana, there’s nothing to stop you from inviting me to do whatever you want—whenever you want it ….”
About the Author
ISABEL SHARPE was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her first-born son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than twenty novels—along with another son—Isabel is more than happy with her choice these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.IsabelSharpe.com.
Dear Reader,
I had so much fun writing this WRONG BED story! It’s always a challenge to figure out how to get two strangers into the same bed. But Sawyer and Alana, two irresistible forces, enjoyed themselves so much whether they were arguing or setting the sheets on fire that I felt as if I got to sit back and let them write the book for me. And it’s always a pleasure to have my characters inhabiting my home city in Wisconsin.
Don’t worry if you get to The End and think I forgot Alana’s sister Melanie’s happy ending. In May look for Surprise Me …, another WRONG BED book featuring a love triangle between Melanie and two very different brothers—the wild and wildly exciting Stoner and the sweet and dependable Edgar.
Which would you choose? Come visit with me at www.IsabelSharpe.com (http://www.IsabelSharpe.com) for all my news!
Cheers,
Isabel Sharpe
WHILE SHE WAS
SLEEPING …
ISABEL SHARPE
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Stacy, Lisa, Annemarie, Caroline,
Sally, Kris and Joan.
Because it doesn’t always have to be
about litera-choor.
1
ALANA HAWTHORNE taped shut her last carton of CDs, mostly jazz and soft rock. The job of packing up her condo hadn’t taken long. Everything went into boxes, bang, done. Not like when she’d moved here from her childhood home in suburban Milwaukee and had to decide what to take and what to leave, what belonged to her and what to Melanie, all the while trying not to have unsisterly thoughts, such as could she chain Melanie to a downtown parking meter while she packed?
Moving was easier this time emotionally, too, though she’d lived here outside Chicago for six years. Hard to get sentimental about a condo, even in a building she took pride in managing, a career she’d fallen into after helping her grandfather manage a downtown bank building for so many years. This place had none of the charm of the house in Wauwatosa, none of the leaded glass and gorgeous woodwork. Granted, none of the leaks and drafts and questionable plumbing, either. Or the memories, good and bad, contained in each room of the house she and Melanie were raised in.
This time day after tomorrow, Alana would be in Orlando, Florida, in another condo, in a development she’d be managing. She wasn’t wild about the move, considered herself thoroughly Midwestern, but Gran and Grandad had sacrificed a decade of what should have been their much-deserved emptynest years raising two grandchildren. After Gran’s fall last month, it was clear what Alana could do to pay them back at least in some small way.
Her cell rang. She paused to write CDs—Bedroom in black marker on the box before scrambling to her feet and grabbing her cell from the oddly bare kitchen counter. The new owners had been impressed by how well she’d kept the place up. Alana didn’t mention she’d spent most of her time at Sam’s place until they broke up last fall.
She glanced at the display. Her sister. “Hey, Melanie.”
“You’ll never, ever guess what I have to tell you.”
Alana wrinkled her nose. Hello, Alana, how’s the packing going? How’s your stress level? Need any help ? “Good news or bad?”
“Good, fabulous, the best, but like I said, you’ll never guess.”
“You met a guy.”
“Oh.” Her sister sounded tremendously disappointed. “Well, yes. But not just a guy, this is the guy.”
Alana closed her eyes, dread and fear lifting their little heads inside her, trying to decide if they’d be needed or not. The guy, huh? What was this one in recovery from? Or wanted by the police for? Or down on his luck because of? “That’s great, Melanie.”
“I am so excited. He’s amazing. What’s more, you’ll really like this one.”
“Where did you meet him?” A meat-market bar at closing time? A bus stop? In court?
“Habitat for Humanity.”
Alana turned from her kitchen counter to face the curtainless window. “No kidding. I didn’t know you volunteered for them.”
“All part of Melanie’s New Improved Life. He’s straight, sober, responsible, an amazing man. Went to college, everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything you think is important.”
“Melanie, wow.” She actually started feeling hopeful, a huge change from how she usually felt about Melanie’s boyfriends, which generally ranked somewhere around despair. “How long have you known him?”
“Long time. A month. Maybe more.”
“Really.” Hey, Melanie even waited to tell Alana about this one, instead of jumping into I-met-someone-and-love-him after the first date. “This is terrific. I’m happy for you. What’s his name?”
“Sawyer Kern.”
Even that was normal. Not Spike or Screech, or that one guy who simply went by Dude. “Good name.”
“You’ll love him.” Melanie blew out a breath, which sounded like a storm blast through the phone. “Um, so, I just … Uh, how are things there?”
Alana’s eyes narrowed. Um, so, she just…what? “Fine. Nearly packed. Was there something else you were going to say?”
“Oh. Well. It’s just a little thing.” She laughed nervously. No, it was going to be a big thing. “Ye-e-es?”
“I wanted to tell you. We’re…moving in together.”
Uh-oh. Yellow alert. “In Gran and Grandad’s house?”
“It’s our house now, Alana.”
“I know, but it …” She gave up. Even though her grandparents sold the house to her and Melanie when they moved to Florida, the place would always be theirs in her heart. “Okay, into our house?”
“Yes. I mean, of course you’ll have to say it’s okay.”
“When is he moving in?”
“Um.tomorrow.”
Orange alert. Waiting until the last second to tell Alana? Or did this Sawyer guy wait until the last second to ask Melanie? “You’ve known him a month? Is that…maybe…rushing things?”
“I know, it seems fast. But it’s also really practical.”
“Shared bedroom saves gas money?” Another nervous laugh. “No. He, um, needed a place to live. So I thought this was an obvious solution. To help him out.”
“Ah.” Homeless guy. Super. Alana let her head bonk back against a cabinet so she was staring up at the smooth, white ceiling. Very uncomfortable position, but it fit the conversation. “Did he get evicted?”
“No, nothing like that. Just…between places, I guess.”
She guessed. “He’s paying half the expenses, utilities, property tax, etc.?”
“Ye-es, Alana.” She sounded like an exasperated teenager. “He promised to share all expenses.”
“Did he promise in writing?”
Her sister scoffed. Alana bit her lip. Don’t push too hard. “What does he do?”
“Oh. Well…”
Red alert. Alana closed her eyes wearily. Male stripper? Female impersonator? Drug dealer?
“He was some kind of lawyer, I guess, but it was too much pressure, so he’s between jobs at the moment.”
Even better. “How long has he been unemploy—”
“Geez, Alana. I knew you’d do this. I’m a grown-up, remember? Twenty-six? And you’re not my mother.”
Oh, no. The last of Alana’s hope evaporated. Melanie went on the attack like that when she was feeling defensive. She had something to hide about this guy. Something Alana wouldn’t like. “Yes, it’s your life. But it’s also half my house.”
“I told you, Alana, he’s a great guy, not like the others.”
“Really.” Alana pulled her head up from the cabinet. “The last ones were ‘not like the others,’ too, except for one thing—they were just like the others.”
“Alana…”
She took a deep breath. She’d moved away from her beloved house and her beloved city partly because of the way she and Melanie got along. Or didn’t. That and a job opportunity managing luxury condos for a man who’d known her Grandad. “Okay, I’m sorry. You know I’m just being—”
“Smothering.”
“No, cautious. Can you blame me?” She kept her voice gentle. “Seriously? For all I know he’s planning to marry you and weasel you out of your half of the house, or take it over for…I don’t know, something bad. Invite creepy friends in at all hours who’ll trash the place or—”
“He’s not like that.”
“You said that about the last one. The ex-con who tried to steal the family silver.” She shoved herself away from the cabinet, stalked into the living room. Her sister didn’t just push her buttons; she hurled grenades and exploded them. In spite of Gran and Grandad’s best efforts, Melanie had grown up wild like Alana and Melanie’s mother.
Every time Melanie used poor judgment—or, more accurately, no judgment—Alana was catapulted back to the fear and bewilderment of her rocky first decade with Mom, before Gran and Grandad took her and her sister in and introduced them to foreign ideas like good nutrition and routine and stability.
“I’m turning over a new leaf. I promise. This guy could run for office.”
“Which means he has affairs, hires prostitutes and/or propositions guys in bathrooms?”
“Ha, ha, ha. You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I do.” Calm, Alana, calm. Who knew? Maybe Sawyer was okay. Melanie was a grown-up; her life was her own.
But that beautiful house was half Alana’s and, legal issues aside, she hated the idea of some guy living there who didn’t belong, didn’t understand how precious a place it was.
Or was Alana being selfish? Unreasonable? She could be both, she knew. If only Melanie didn’t have such a dismal record. “Can you just date him a little longer, get to know him better before he moves in?”
“I’ve known him a month, what more do you want?”
“Two months? Four? Eight? A year?”
“He needs a place now. I’ve got one.”
“We’ve got one.” Alana sank down onto the one space on her couch not heaped with boxes and tried to calculate. She could put off traveling to Florida by a day or two. She’d wanted to get to Orlando a couple of weeks early before starting her new job, but she didn’t absolutely have to be there yet. Her furniture was going into storage regardless, while she stayed with Gran and Grandad. “Here’s an idea. How about if I come up and meet him, and if he’s all you say, there will be no problem and I’m fine with him moving in.”
“For God’s sake, Alana, I’m not twelve.”
No, you just act like it sometimes. “I know. But the house is half mine, I think it’s understandable I’d want to—”
“I think it’s understandable that you should trust your own sister.”
“Uh…” Based on what? “What is so bad about me visiting?”
