Page 37 of Mistletoe Season
She stumbled back, losing her hold on him, her vision blurring as she reached for her face. He merely groaned and slid down into a sitting position on the floor.
Her nose shot a warning throb from her forehead to her lips. Blood was coming.
“Your keys, my lady.” The prince raised Charlie’s keys to her view, his grin crooked. If Charlie’s nose hadn’t been stinging, she’d have laughed.
“Are you alright?”
The prince started an unsteady rise, so Charlie rushed forward, redirecting him to the couch. He refused to budge, his brows rising as his gaze dropped to her nose.
“Did... did I”—he gestured toward her face with the keys, his eyes close enough for her to get a clear view of how incredibly blue they were—“hurt you?”
The agony in his voice, in those piercing eyes, distracted her from her pain for a moment.
A flicker of lucidness steadied his attention. “Forgive me.”
The raw words rasped out of him as if they came from some deep place inside that broad chest of his.
Something like the faintest flutter of hummingbird wings flittered alive in her stomach.
And then his focus grew in intensity, and he started falling forward. If she hadn’t guided him safely to her couch, more blood may have spilled in her living room than the stream coming from her nostrils.
She ran to the kitchen and gathered a handful of paper towels. Smashing them to her face, she returned to the living room to the sound of... snoring.
Again.
She leaned against the doorframe with the towels against her nose, a chuckle tickling the back of her throat.
At eight, she’d dreamed of a fairy-tale prince coming to sweep her off her feet. But nearly twenty years later, she stared at a drunk, snoring,actualprince who’d just busted her nose after puking on her.
It was a good thing she’d outgrown that pesky childhood fantasy, because one thing was certain. This prince wasnotfor her.
***
Where on earth was he?
Arran’s eyes refused to open, even as the sound of footsteps neared.
And how had he found himself whereverherewas?
He groaned. Thoughts refused to congeal.
“You definitely know how to make a first impression, brother-dear.”
Brother-dear? The voice bled into recognition. Ellie?
“And I’m afraid you made a bit of a mess of things on your first night.”
A strange scratching sound erupted to his right, followed by light flooding into the dark recesses of his sluggish thinking.
The action immediately incited a headache. Or reminded Arran of the headache he already had. Because, somewhere in his foggy memory, he felt certain he’d had a headache for a long time.
Arran pushed open one eye to find his sister staring down at him.
“Not the best way to start turning over a new leaf.”
His chest seized at her words, but he couldn’t quite piece together the reason why. “What happened?”
“We can discuss it once you get up and dressed.” She sat down on the bed, her gaze more compassionate than he deserved. “Then, after you’re cleaned and sobered up, I’ll drive you to the worksite.”
