Page 62 of Seizing Mack
Chapter Thirty
~ Mack ~
Mack woke up feelingas if an entire convoy of supply trucks had run over her. Twice. Her mouth was foul and dry; her tongue, thick and fuzzy. She looked around and had absolutely no idea where she was. It was a harsh reminder of exactly why she didn’t go clubbing more often.
She breathed a sigh of relief when a brief self-inspection assured her she was still clothed, except for her boots and socks, which she located just inside the closed door. She sat up, waited for the room to stop spinning, and tried to reason it out.
It was definitely a bedroom. Not hers. Not one she recognized. The walls were a neutral shade of cream; mocha colored panel drapes, thankfully closed, hung over the two windows. A Shaker-style dresser sat against the wall, a matching night table by the bed.
The faint smell of a familiar aftershave hit her as her olfactory senses came back online. She turned her head into the pillow and sniffed, confirming her suspicions.Nick.
Mack fell back onto the bed and groaned. What the hell was she doing in Nick’s bed? More importantly, where was he? Had her secret fantasies been realized and she’d missed it?
Disjointed flashes of memory assaulted her pounding head: going to the bar, dancing, being held against Nick’ broad chest, getting arrested.... Her stomach clenched as she remembered some of the things she’d said to him.
She groaned, wondering what had happened to her neat, orderly life. When, exactly, had she lost control?When Princess Dee arrived, a voice in the back of her head answered.
Yes, Delilah was definitely a problem. She’d blown in and thrown Mack’s disciplined life into a form of chaos. But Mack couldn’t blame Dee for this. No, this was totally her own doing.
In fact, none of it was Dee’s fault. Not really. Yes, Dee was a selfish, vindictive pain in the ass, but Mack was ultimately responsible for her own behavior. It was not Dee’s actions, but Mack’sreactions, that were the real issue. Allowing her stepsister to goad her into acting so out of character was on no one but herself.
Lesson learned.Too bad she hadn’t figured that out before the charity gala, and definitely before she’d gone on a Cuervo-fueled bender.
She listened for a while as she waited for her stomach to settle. The house was quiet, no sound of movement. When she got the courage to sit up again, she spotted the handwritten note propped up on the nightstand along with two white pills, a glass of orange juice, and her phone.
Good morning, sleeping beauty. Take the pills and the juice, they’ll help. Feel free to use the shower and anything else you need. I’ll be back soon. Please don’t leave. - N
Mack looked at his bold, male script and sighed. The urge to flee before he returned was strong, but she refrained. She’d made her bed, so to speak, and now it was time to lie in it (or in Nick’s, as the case was).
She dutifully swallowed the pills and washed them down with the juice, which felt amazing against her throat. Then she picked up her phone, squinted through the blurriness, and fired off a text to Jay.
Mack:Brutus.
His response was immediate.
Jay:Love you. You okay?
Mack:Feel like roadkill.
Jay:No surprise there. Let the good detective make it all better.
Mack sighed. It was hard to be angry with Jay, even when he did something foolish, like try to play Cupid. His heart was in the right place. They were definitely going to have words about this later, though, including a long discussion on personal boundaries.
Mack:Seize?
Jay: Covered.
Mack: You are a prince among men.
Jay: I know.
Swearing off tequila for the rest of her life, she went into the bathroom, pleased to find that the detective was a guy who valued cleanliness. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was done in neutrals and uncluttered, very much like her own.
She turned the shower on full blast, waiting for the water to warm, then stripped and stepped in directly under the spray. Almost immediately, the pain in her head began to recede under the powerful jets and a strange, tingly sensation took its place.
There was something surprisingly intimate about using a man’s shower. Of being surrounded with his scent as the steam billowed around her. Of sliding the bar of deodorant soap over her skin, knowing he had done the same.
She closed her eyes, conjuring images of Nick, naked and wet in that very shower. A slow burn started deep in her core, helping to ease the discomfort of the morning along with the aspirin and the hot water. Her sensitive nipples pebbled as she ran her soapy hands over them, accompanied by an ache between her legs.
