Now that he was closer, he could hear slight muttering.
“. . . Stupid . . . wish I had a stinking holodeck . . . or a freaking TARDIS. Bet Doctor Who never gets stuck in the damn TARDIS.” Another violent shake of the door, then a pause. “Don’t be stupid, Tay. The Doctor doesn’t take a shit. He’s a time lord. They’re evolved life-forms that don’t need bowel movements.”
Er, okay. “Is everything all right in there?”
The door shook again and then the person spoke once more. “Beam me up, Scotty. There’s no intelligent life in here.”
Right. A crazy servant. “Are you . . . looking for someone named Scotty?”
A pause. “It’s a Trek-ism.”
“Beg pardon?”
“A saying common to Trekkies?” The doorknob twisted. “Haven’t you ever seen the Star Trek movies? The TV shows? The cartoon?”
“I’m afraid not.” Why on earth would he watch any of those?
“Oh. Man, that’s weird.” The woman’s voice sounded skeptical. “I really need to talk to Gretchen about educating her staff or like, giving them a day off so they can watch TV or something. Poor souls probably only watch Downton Abbey or some crap like that. Double-yew-tee-eff.”
Against his will, Loch’s mouth curved into a hint of a smile. “Not a fan of it, are we?”
“Sorry. No offense to your British people or anything, but no. It’s a real snoozer.”
Loch snorted. His accent was about as British as hers was.
“Anyhow. Give me some good old science fiction any day of the week.” The doorknob twisted again. “Or fantasy. Speaking of fantasies, I have one where I can someday escape this bathroom, but I seem to be stuck.”
He chuckled. “Shall I assist you, then?”
“That would be just ducky.”
He put aside his offending shoe and studied the door. The wood was old and he could see where the door had warped at the top and the bottom, likely due to humidity and settling. It happened at his old manor house, too. There was usually a trick to forcing the door open, but the ugly bit of fabric sticking between frame and door would be a problem. “You might need to cut this bit of cloth—”
He could hear her gasp on the other side. “Fuck that noise! This is the fourth Doctor’s scarf!”
Right. “Very well, then. Stand back.”
“Hang on! Let me take my scarf off!”
He waited, and as he did, he heard a small choked noise. Uh-oh. “All right in there?”
The woman on the other side coughed. “Yep. Just . . . forgot I was attached and all. I’m good now.”
“All right. Move away from the door.” He took a step backward. “And if I break the doorjamb, give my hostess my apologies, will you?”
“Eep!”
Loch squared his shoulder, eyed the door, and then flung his body against it. The wood rattled hard, but stayed put, even though the woman on the other side squealed. A second slam of his weight against the door did the trick, though, and it flung open, and Loch pushed inside.
The washroom was a mess. There was water all over the counter, spilled soap, the scarf seemed to be tangling around his legs, and there was a young woman sprawled on the carpet, her legs splayed and her head resting against the lip of the footed claw tub.
Blast. He rushed forward to her side. “You all right?”
She groaned, rubbing the back of her head with a hand. “Did anyone get the number of that truck?”
“I told you to step back from the door.”
“Yeah, but then I thought I’d help out by pulling on this side. That was probably a bad idea.” She rubbed the back of her head and let him help her sit up on the rug. “My damn head’s killing me now.”
Helping him pull? That was the most foolish thing he’d ever heard of, but Loch kept that thought to himself.
He should have been looking at her head, he really should have. But he couldn’t help but notice that she was wearing a white shirt, and it was completely soaked and sticking to her body. Through the wet fabric, he could see an outline of a pale bra, two spectacular, well-formed breasts, and tiny, pert nipples that were just begging for attention.
“I hate to ask,” Loch murmured, helping her to her feet. “But why are you all wet?” Rather magnificently wet, if he said so himself. She was cute enough, her face round and sweet, but those breasts were drawing all of his attention—and rightly so. They were damn magnificent, and they were completely outlined by her drenched clothing.
“Oh.” She blinked up at him with big gray eyes surrounded by thick lashes. Then she glanced down at her shirt and grimaced. “There’s a reason.”
“Do tell.” He pulled a towel off a nearby rack and handed it to her, even though it was a shame to cover up those glorious breasts.
She immediately dropped the towel, bent over to pick it up, and smacked her head on the counter. “Ow!”
Good lord almighty. “Hold still. Let me get that for you.” He bent down to get the towel and as he did, she leaned forward, and one of those nipples scraped against his arm. His cock stiffened in response. It had been a while since he’d taken a woman to bed, and his body was definitely responding positively to this strange but attractive girl.
“Sorry,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I guess I should point out I’m a bit of a klutz.”
Bit of was probably an understatement. “S’all right. Do you need to sit down?”
“Nah.” She blinked several times. “My scarf okay? You didn’t have to cut it, did you?”
Since she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to do so, he draped the towel around her shoulders, feeling oddly protective of her. “Your scarf is fine. Why are you wet?”
“Me? Oh.” She bit her lip and gave him a sheepish look. “So I was reading online that you should use soap and water on a stuck door, and I tried that but I ended up getting more on myself than on the door.” Her mouth flattened. “Then I tried to clean it up and made an even bigger mess. The soap they use here is downright slippery.”
“I’ve heard that about soap,” he said dryly. “Perhaps you should put in a word with your employer about purchasing less . . . slippery soap.” And he’d have to thank Gretchen for putting her employee in a thin white T-shirt, though the jeans were throwing him off. It didn’t seem like a typical servant uniform.
“My employer?” She giggled. “I do tech support. My employer doesn’t know the first thing about soap.”