Page 470 of Hate Mates

“I’ve got her,” a different male says. This voice is more familiar, but I’m too drunk to connect the dots. Muffled conversation ensues as my head lolls forward, meeting a hard warm chest. Heat rolls off his body in comforting ways, and I suspect I purr as I nestle into him.

“Whoa.” My stomach pitches as I’m swooped up into strong arms.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Those are the last words I hear until I wake up in my bed sometime later as nausea swims up my throat.

Stumbling off the bed, I slip and slide across the polished hardwood floors of my luxury one-bedroom apartment, in my haste for the bathroom.

Sinking to the floor, I hug the toilet bowl as I pray to the porcelain gods.

Hands pull my hair back, holding it away from my face as I puke. I heave repeatedly, even when there’s nothing left to expel in my stomach, and I’m pretty sure I’ve hacked up a lung.

When I’m done, I slump to the tile floor in a hot, sweaty tangle of limbs. I don’t have any energy to move.

Strong arms haul me into a seated position, resting my back against the side of the tub. A warm cloth is wiped over my face and my clammy chest.

“Open your mouth,” a man with a familiar deep voice commands.

I stare at Cohen in a mix of shock, surprise, and horror.

“Rinse for me,” he adds, holding a plastic cup to my lips.

I’m too sick to argue, so I do as I’m told, swishing the water in my mouth and spitting it into a second empty cup. I repeat the process with mouthwash, feeling decidedly better by the time he scoops me up and carries me back to bed.

I pass out again, and when I wake, strips of buttery sunlight are filtering through the infinitesimal gaps in my blinds. Pain pummels my skull, and I groan as I rub my throbbing temples.

“How do you feel?” a man with a deep gruff voice asks, startling me.

My gaze moves in the direction of the speaker, and initial confusion greets me when Cohen’s striking eyes lock onto mine. Until it all comes back to me in full Technicolor.

Crap.

“How are you here?” I croak after ungluing my tongue from the roof of my dry mouth.

“What do you remember?” he asks, leaning forward in the chair. He must have brought it in here last night from the living room. The soft gray and pink blanket pooled at his lap is usually draped over the back of my couch.

I stare at him in a bit of a daze, wondering how it’s possible for any man to look so incredibly sexy after spending a cramped night sleeping in a chair. The stubble on his face is thicker, adding to the dangerous aura he exudes in spades. His usual artfully styled hair is messy, tumbling over his forehead in sexy waves. The sleeves of his black dress shirt are folded at the elbows, showcasing the most delicious arm porn.

“Irina?” Humor laces his tone as he stares at me, and I hate he’s caught me ogling him like he’s my favorite chocolate ice cream.

“Ugh, not much,” I admit, sitting up and propping my back against the headrest.

His eyes lower to my chest, and I realize I’m only in panties and a thin cotton tank and my nipples are saluting him. My eyeswiden in alarm as I tug the covers over me, tucking them firmly under both arms to ensure I’m concealing all the goods. My glare is instant. “Did you undress me?”

His lips twitch as he leans back in the chair, spreading his thighs wide as he spears me with a heated look. “Sure did.”

“You had no right!” I hate how shrill my voice sounds, but I’m borderline panicking. My dress was strapless, and I wasn’t wearing a bra. He could have done anything to me last night, and I wouldn’t have a clue.

I am never getting drunk ever again.

“Relax, princess. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before though I might have spent an inordinate amount of time staring at your pretty tits.”

Indignation rises swiftly to the surface. “How dare you! That is a massive invasion of my privacy. I should have you arrested!”

All humor fades from his handsome face as he straightens up. “Forsavingyou? Have you genuinely forgotten what happened? Let me refresh your memory.” A muscle clenches in his jaw as he cracks his knuckles, looking murderous. “Some degenerate grabbed you when you stumbled out of the club, drunk off your tits and laughing hysterically. You could barely stand, let alone fight him off. When I got to you, he was seconds away from violating you. I pulled him off and kicked the shit out of the prick. Then you passed out, and I drove you home. The instant we got through the door of your apartment, you puked all over yourself and the hallway. I had no choice but to remove your dress. I cleaned you with a cloth, found a tank in your closet, dressed you, and put you to bed. Then I cleaned up the mess.”

Anger paints his face as he stands, and his body is vibrating with rage and frustration. I gulp over the lump lodged in my throat. The blanket falls to the floor, and he kicks it aside before stalking to my bedside table. Snatching the bottle of water andpain pills from the table, he hands them to me. “If I hadn’t stepped in, God knows what would’ve happened to you last night,” he fumes, thrusting the water and pills at me. “I could’ve taken advantage of you, but I didn’t. I like my women conscious and willing.” He folds his arms across his broad chest and pins me with a sharp glare. “So go ahead, call the cops and have them arrest me for taking care of you.”

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