Page 86 of Hidden Resolution
A swipe of her tongue across her teeth indicated her cotton mouth wasn’t the sole reason for the horrid taste in her mouth. At some point, she’d vomited. There was no mistaking the rancid flavor of bile. She moaned and rolled on her side.
“Too fast, too fast,”her brain screamed.
The life-affirming scent of coffee permeated the air, and she’d give her left arm if she didn’t need to move to get some. She whimpered at the thought of walking to the kitchen, much less standing up.
Why the fuck did her body hurt so badly?
She only recalled a few swigs of vodka. Granted, she wasn’t much of a drinker, but booze had never affected her to this degree before.
Pushing up from the bed was a mistake, and she froze until the world stopped spinning.
“Death, take me now,” she whispered, wincing as her voiced plea reverberated inside her head.
She sensed a presence in front of her and jumped.
Death worked fast!
“How about we keep dying at bay for a little longer, love? Have some coffee.”
Mason.
Yeah, so almost the same thing. He’d brought death to her heart in the nonliteral sense of the word.
“Not so loud,” she begged.
He chuckled. She contemplated murder and would probably have carried through if she weren’t in agony. In her current state, she would doubtless leave clues behind.
“Why are you here? I thought you’d left,” she croaked.
He tugged at his slacks and squatted in front of her. His appearance, so fresh and utterly gorgeous, pissed her off. She could almost guarantee she looked like a crack whore after a wild night of partying. Hair in all directions, little to no makeup to hide her pale face, and mascara smeared.
She followed the line of his gaze to her skewed bra. Hastily, she straightened it and closed her robe. Had he undressed her? She eyed him with suspicion.
“I didn’t take advantage—much.” His wolfish grin flashed. As soon as his dimples appeared, she had to do a double-take to make sure the last of her wardrobe hadn’t dissolved into thin air. In the interest of preserving her modesty, she tightened the robe’s sash and knotted it. Not quite a chastity belt, but the sex ship had sailed a long time ago.
“I thought we agreed you were supposed to dial back all your sexiness,” she muttered.
When he sobered, continuing to stare, yesterday’s events rolled in.
Erica and Jacob were gone.
Sadness, swift and fierce, punched her in the chest, making it difficult to catch her breath. Nausea hit, not only from the alcohol consumption but from the image of her friend’s charred body, along with Zack’s sweet little boy.
“Oh, God!”
She shoved Mason on his ass and leapt over him in her rush for the toilet. As she crashed to her knees, he moved in behind her to hold her hair.
This is taking it above and beyond casual friendship,a little voice whispered.
Shut the fuck up, little voice! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,Shonda scolded.
When the contents of her stomach were fully purged, she shifted to rest against the vanity. Mason pressed a cup of water into her hand. As she sipped it, he ran a cool cloth around her neck and across her forehead.
“Better?”
His concern enveloped her, providing comfort on a basic level. The fingers stroking her hair, the arm holding her back against his chest, and the legs sprawled on either side of her made her want to weep. How could one person with a gazillion gallons of love to offer refuse to give it, other than pouring it out in minuscule increments? Did he not realize it reeled a woman in and made her long for permanence?
Maybe for the time it took to get through the funeral services, she could accept his scraps and lean on his unrelenting strength. And once the horror was over and the dirt had been shoveled onto the coffins, she’d send him on his way. For good.
