Page 31 of Pulse

Thank God. Talia didn’t have the brain power to think about her mountain of issues just then.

“Bye, Tal. Be good. Love you!” Margo waved over her shoulder as she disappeared through the front door.

Any other time, Talia would have locked it behind her friend, but her limbs weighed three hundred pounds each, and her eyes were already sliding shut. The house was quiet and peaceful. The pain medication kept her headache at bay, and the pile of pillows Margo shoved behind her back kept her chest comfortable. A soft blanket negated the chill of the air conditioning, and within seconds, Talia slipped into unconsciousness.

Knock, knock, knock.

Talia startled, wincing at the pain that lanced through her chest. She blinked. “Wha…”

Knock, knock.

The door.

Frowning, she dragged her legs over the side of the couch. “Coming,” she called out. “Oof, that hurts.” Going from a reclined to a seated position pulled on her chest muscles. She felt like she’d been kicked by an elephant, or at least how she imagined it would feel being hit by one of those giant feet.

Knock, knock

“Coming!” she called louder this time. Who the hell was it? Maybe Margo couldn’t make it for dinner and had ordered her some food.

By the time she shuffled to the door, she was tired again. And in pain. She was due for some pain medication. Her head throbbed where she’d received ten stitches, and her bruised sternum was beyond sore. Wincing, she reached for the knob and pulled open the door, only to find a very attractive man in jeans, a black T-shirt, and a Hell’s Handlers’ cut. His scowl didn’t cancel out his appeal, but it did have her frowning.

“Pulse.”

His gaze immediately went to the cut on her forehead before traveling up and down the length of her body.

She ran a hand over her hair as heat rushed to her face. Rarely did she go out in public with her hair down, and never in lightweight joggers and a simple ribbed tank top. She always secured her hair in a neat bun or similar professional style, wore a full face of makeup, and dressed to impress. Nothing overly fancy or flashy, but it was her armor.

Standing before Pulse in her loungewear with a scrubbed face and loose hair, she might as well have been naked.

Yes, she needed therapy. And no, she hadn’t gone yet. Getting someone as unwilling to lean on others as Talia to go totherapy was worse than pulling teeth. Just ask Margo. She’d said it at least a dozen times.

So now there she stood, skin prickling at the notion of being exposed and vulnerable with a gash on her head and no shields while a gorgeous man stood in her doorway, glowering.

“Uh, what… what are you doing here?” God, she was a respected attorney who’d taken down countless men in the courtroom with her sharp tongue and quick thinking, and here, she could not form a simple sentence without floundering.

“Seriously? You didn’t lock your door after what happened last night?”

His scolding had some of her usual fire returning until she tried to raise an eyebrow and ended up grimacing as pain shot across her forehead in a fiery arc.

With a huff, she turned and strode into the house—time for some pain medication.

“Come in, why don’t you? I was hoping someone would show up to yell at me. This day hasn’t been shitty enough.”

The door clicked shut, followed by the snick of the lock before heavy footfalls trailed her into her kitchen.

She didn’t bother to turn and look at him until she’d swallowed four ibuprofen with a large gulp of water. When she turned, she found him still staring at her, but his anger had changed to concern.

“I fell asleep,” she said and could have kicked herself. Since when did she explain her actions to a random man she didn’t know? And yet, her mouth kept moving. “I was completely wiped out when I got home and passed out within seconds. Otherwise, I would have locked the door.”

He frowned. “I’m surprised they let you come home alone.”

She smirked.

“Ah,” he said, shaking his head.

How long had it been since a man stood in her space?

Ages.

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