The peace was disturbed by a loud rapping at the door.
Sheila flung back the sheets and stood glaring at her reflection in the mirror. Her unruly thick curls were tangled like a hastily constructed bird's nest and her blue flannel nightdress was badly creased from all the tossing and turning she'd done in her sleep. Regardless, she shuffled towards the door.
Outside, Danger McDougall stood dressed in his white jumpsuit with his hands on his hips waiting.
“You look like fecking Elvis Presley stood there like that,” Sheila cursed, “What do you want?”
“I need the zip fixing,” the stuntman stated shyly, pointing down to his nether region, “It won't go up.”
“Well go and take the fecking thing off and come back when I've had time to wake up,” she grumbled.
“Is everything alright?” the musc
