Page 13 of The Talk Around Town

Emma leaned up on her elbows and raised her head, squinting at the digital clock on her bedside table. She fell face-first into the soft feather pillows.

Eleven a.m.

She should be flogged for lying in bed this long. Her bones and muscles were having a hard time cooperating with her brain.

Emma dragged herself out of bed and stumbled toward her bathroom. She stopped and shook her head, trying to regain her equilibrium. This just wouldn’t do. She took a few breaths and tried again. The fresh oxygen seemed to help.

Turning the tap on full blast, she splashed cool water over her face and neck. Toothpaste was the next item on her list. Her mouth was dry, like she’d sucked on a mouthful of cotton wool. She avoided looking in the mirror because she just knew she’d look like death warmed up. Shewasn’t that much of a masochist that she needed to dissect herself while in this condition.

Emma wobbled carefully down the hall toward the kitchen, trailing her hand across the wall to help hold herself upright. An ache in her side had her rubbing absently at her stomach and hip. Coffee sounded like a really good idea right about now.

Her hand touched the pantry door when a great booming sounded from the front door. Emma winced. Maybe if she ignored it, whoever it was would go away.

The battering ram sounded again.

Ouch!Emma shoved the heel of her palm to her forehead. Couldn’t they see she wasn’t suitable company?

Emma had to grimace at herself. Of course they couldn’t. They couldn’t see through the damned walls.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m coming,” she muttered as she shambled up the hall to the entry.

She thrust a hand into her wild hair, pushing it back from her face as she opened the door. Gabe stood there, his fist raised to knock again.

“If you so much as think about doing that again, I’m gonna hurt you real bad,” she growled.

Gabe’s grin enveloped his whole face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I see you’re in as good a condition as my sister. You don’t look so hot, kiddo,” he said as he glanced down from her face to the rest of her body.

Emma scrunched up her face at the bright glare of day through the doorway.

“No shit, Sherlock. You always this smart on a Sunday morning, or am I privileged in some way?”

Gabe looked so shocked that Emma felt immediately ashamed. His eyes finally lifted back to hers. He looked like someone had socked him right in the belly.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. My head hurts and I feel yuck. If any rubbish comes out of my mouth, don’t listen, okay?”

Gabe looked to her right and stared at the flaking paint on the side of the doorframe. He scraped at it with a fingernail.

“It’s not that. I have a sister, remember? I’m used to moods. And hangovers, for that matter. Are you in the habit of answering your doorin your underwear?” he asked, his voice quiet.

Emma looked down. She stood all-out, in the doorway in her bra and knickers. She vaguely remembered throwing her dress into a corner somewhere once she got home, but she obviously hadn’t taken off her underwear, or put on her pyjamas.

The French lingerie stared up at her when she looked again. A highly padded balconette bra pushed her smallish breasts up and together, creating an impressive cleavage. The matching knickers were boned and sat low on her hips, looking altogether far too much like a corset. Which was why she’d bought the ridiculously priced set in the first place.

Beyond mortified, Emma stepped backward. She didn’t even know how to cover up. He’d already copped an eyeful, but she slapped her hands over strategic parts of her stomach and side.

“I… ah… I’ll be right back. Come in… I won’t be long.”

Emma spun around and fled down the hall to her room, not waiting to see if he’d hung around. She sat down on her bed, her hands over her face, and fell back into the tumbled sheets. How the hell was she supposed to face the man now? She’d kissed him like he was the only male on the planet the previous night, then she’d pranced around in the doorway in a costume the girls at Moulin Rouge would be at home in.

What was wrong with her? She never behaved like this. Alex would have been laughing his head off at her right now.

Alex.

Thinking of him brought reality crashing down on her. She sat up, her embarrassment gone. Her shoulders slumped at the thought of her husband. He was the reason she was here. The reason she’d left Perth. He and Sasha.

Emma stood up and tore off the offending underwear, throwing it through the doorway onto the bathroom floor. Red marks stood out like blazing neon on the raised scars slashing down from beneath her ribs to her hip and stomach. She touched one tentatively, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked away the harsh reminder. She loved her pretty underwear, but it rubbed in all the wrong spots if she didn’t remove it after a few hours. Falling asleep in it had her feeling achy and sore.

It was so ugly that she cringed. What must Gabe be thinking?

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