Page 46 of Savage Game
Her head swimming with fatigue and dizziness, she barely registered when the elevator dinged, and the door slid open revealing an exhausted Byron. Holding his jacket by his index finger over his shoulder, his shirt was rumpled, and the scars on his face were pronounced, like lines carved into a marble statue.
His lips pressed together as he took her in. “Are you still in your sleepwear?”
She shot up from the chair and put out her hand to steady herself on the desk. Oh no, she was dizzy and tired. Blinking, she tried to remember his question. Oh, her clothes. She looked down at her body as if to remind herself what she was wearing and blinked again. “Oh, um, yes. I. You. I.” Not knowing what to say, she stumbled to a halt and stared at her feet.
If only I wasn’t so lightheaded.
“What have you done today? Didn’t you take care of yourself at all, kitten?” His tone wasn’t stern, but there was a hint of censure in it, and she bristled.
Okay, so yes, I haven’t taken much care of myself today, but figuring out my future is important to me. But maybe not to him. Because he wants to keep me? Control me?
Another wave of vertigo assaulted her, and her stomach revolted.
“Sorry, Sir. It all took longer than I realized.”
He took a step into the study, his head tilted, and his eyes trained on her face. “All what?”
But she couldn’t answer. Her stomach did another cartwheel, and bile rose in her throat. Oh, my Goodness! Her eyes wide, she slapped a hand over her mouth.
I’m going to throw up.
“I’m sorry” she muttered again before rushing past him. Hurrying through the hallway, she cursed the size of the penthouse. She stumbled through the bedroom and into the bathroom before dropping on her knees in front of the toilet bowl with an agonized grunt.
Clutching the cold porcelain, she heaved painfully, her empty stomach clenching and protesting.
Behind her heavy footsteps fell to the tiled floor as Byron entered the bathroom. Her face wet with tears and sweat, she tried to say something, but another round of violent heaves stole her breath.
A comforting hand massaged her nape, as her body shuddered and struggled through the nausea.
Still embracing the porcelain and exhausted, Charlotte sank to one hip and tried to convince her body there wasn’t anything to expel.
A glass appeared in front of her, and she accepted the water with shaking hands.
“Better?” Byron wet a washcloth to wipe her face and took the glass from her. After rinsing out the cloth, he placed his palm with the damp fabric on the back of her neck.
She took stock of her body. The water helped, and so did the cool washcloth as well as his support. “A little.”
“Are you ready to leave the floor?”
“Uhuh.” Unsure if she meant it as a confirmation or denial, Charlotte let go of the toilet bowl.
The sound of the toilet flushing made her cheeks heat, and then he carefully lifted her and carried her to the bed.
“Hang on a moment, kitten.”
She watched as his long legs carried him out of the bedroom before she curled on her side.
What on earth made me this sick?
Byron didn’t give her much time to worry about the question because he returned with a food tray.
“I can’t eat now.” She struggled into a sitting position.
“Have you eaten at all today?” He handed her a cup with warm liquid. “Take a small sip and see how your stomach handles it.”
Reluctantly, she accepted the mug and took a tentative sip. Her throat and esophagus burned, and she almost handed the tea back but dutifully took another drink. This time the fluid went down more smoothly. Something must have shown in her face because he rumbled his approval and sank down on the bed.
A little more alert now, she stretched her neck and peeked at the tray.
