Page 3 of Lovers in Lockdown

I shriek and grab around in front of me for something to help steady my balance and my hands grip onto something warm and soft and round.

The screams get louder.

I prize my eyes open to see what the squishy thing is that I’m gripping onto for dear life and shriek even louder than the imposter currently is. Because There’s a boob in my hand.

Holy shit, there’s a fucking boob in my hand.

‘Get off my tit, you dirty pervert!’

Someone roars and then suddenly, all six foot four inches of me goes collapsing into a heap, the sound of my ass hitting the floor reverberating through the flat like a thunderstorm.

What the -

I think I just got fucking karate-chopped.

My vision finally clears and very slowly the figure of the screaming, karate-chopping trespasser begins to take shape. Long hair the colour of golden syrup. Full lips. Flushed skin. Startled blue eyes that are staring directly at my -

Oh, sweet holy hell.

I’m naked.

And that’s when I realise.

Oh, sweet holy hell.

So is she.

CHAPTER THREE

Honey

‘Stay where you are. I’m calling the police!’I scream.

The stranger on the floor lets out a strangled groan and starts to climb off the floor, raising his hands in surrender.

I edge as slowly as I can back into the bathroom, my strategy being that if I move slowly enough, he won’t notice that I’ve moved at all until I’m safe in the bathroom with the door locked.

I didn’t say it’s a fool proof plan, but it’s the best I’ve got right now.

And despite my efforts to be stealthy like a fox, I’ve never been particularly graceful and I’ve tripped over my own feet at least twice already. I’m in such a panic that I haven’t yet registered that the scary, naked murderer man is just as panicked as I am.

And that a man who can perform the Beatles with such unbridled enthusiasm, yet not get a single note right, is probably rather harmless. But his repertoire of 1960s British pop music isn’t exactly what I’m focusing on right now.

Nope.

It’s the sight of him rising to his full height before me that has my eyes falling out of my face. His feet are spectacularly large. Obscenely so. His legs are like pillars in an Ancient Greek temple, muscular and strong. There are more abs on his torso than I can count on both hands and I can only assume that he bench presses fire trucks, given the size of his biceps. Everything about this man is enormous.

And that only adds to my hysteria.

He rapidly moves to cover himself with his massive hands, but he’s not quick enough, because my eyes have already darted to the part of him that is hanging between his legs.

Christ alive.

Apparently, men as well-endowed as a shire horse exist in the world now.

‘Holy shit, can you please stop screaming?’

The sound of the man’s voice cuts through my panic-induced fog and I slam my mouth shut.

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