Claimed - a Portwright Book

Chapter Four: Sophie

I woke up with a weird sense of panic. I mean, I was usually panicking about something: grades, the mother, my sister's impending doom (sorry, wedding), boys I was supposed to allow to court me, that my hair wouldn't tame properly for one of the mother's functions, that Alice finally realised I was a dick and didn't want to be my friend anymore...

But there was no school anymore and I hadn't even got my results yet, so university was so far away that there was no possible reason to worry about those grades. There were currently no boys on the mother's radar. Although, with Christmas and New Years fast approaching, there was no doubt about to be a string of eligible bachelors for my sacrifice...

Boys...

Why did that make me think of...?

Oh...

I sat up quickly, the world a little blurry what with it being first thing in the morning and me not wearing my glasses. I reached over to the bedside table and floundered around until I felt the familiar shape of them and put them on. There, world only a smidgeon blurry now and I could get back to the thought at hand.

What had that been?

Ah, yes, boys.

Namely, the two Irishmen I'd met the night before.

My heart thudded in my chest and panic seized me. I hurtled out of bed in a manner far more athletic than usual and threw the curtains open. My eyes yelled abuse at me, but the panic in my heart thanked me. Nothing ever seemed so bad in bright sunlight.

Or, at least, that's what I told myself and I had to force myself to take deep breaths so I stopped hyperventilating.

God, what had I got myself into?

I had literally been minding my own business, just walking from my student's house to the bus stop and landed myself in a world of pain. I had found myself in the middle of some kind of gang issue – I still didn't know where 'gang' sat on the whole PC thing, I made a mental note to ask Declan–

Who was probably still somewhere in my house!

I rushed over to the mirror and saw my curls had dried in a spectacular mess. No way was the first man to turn my head to mush going to see me like that! Not this soon anyway – I was a realist above most things so I knew trying to look perfect forever was a waste of life, don't worry. I rummaged around for my hair straightener and turned it on while I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth – my first cup of coffee was going to taste hideous, but I'd deal to make a good impression this once.

After I straightened my hair and pinched my cheeks – yes, I spent too much time on period dramas both on paper and on screen – I opened my bedroom door. I couldn't hear anything, but the purpose of the house design was to keep noise to a minimum. I snuck out of my room, feeling like a right spaz, and stuck my head into each of the spare rooms as I passed. None of them looked slept in. I stood at the door of the last one and frowned.

"Maybe he's gone–"

A noise downstairs pulled my attention and I realised I smelled coffee. Hesitatingly, I started down the stairs. As I went, I heard two voices – one Irish, one Australian, both masculine. They were at the front door.

I looked at the clock on the wall in front of the stairs. It was barely nine o'clock. In the holidays. And I'd promised Alice I'd sleep in. Oh well, I'd start the next day.

I headed towards the front door and instantly regretted not thinking to put on something...less daggy and less revealing before coming downstairs.

Declan, in all his glory and last night's clothes minus the jacket, was in my front hall, a cup of coffee in hand – I know I'd told him to help himself, but really, where was mine? – leaning on the wall and talking to a guy who was fiddling with my alarm panel. I ogled Declan run his hand through his hair and my mouth just opened by itself.