Page 30 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
“Almost as good as being a travel writer.”
She closes her eyes.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist. Come here.”
She swirls the bottle thoughtfully. “Only if you promise to be nice.”
I sit up and smile at her. “I’ll be as nice as you want me to be. You know I’m good for that.”
An attractive blush darkens her cheeks.
I hold out my hand. “Angel. Come here.”
She approaches slowly, still swirling the bottle, holding my gaze with a wary look like she’s not entirely convinced I’m not going to suddenly pounce. When she’s close enough, I reach out and grasp her wrist. I pull her between my legs and nuzzle her breasts.
“You hungry?” I murmur. “I can order room service.”
“In a bit.” She taps me on the shoulder with the bottle. “You must be dehydrated.”
“Yeah, I am, actually. Thanks.” I take the bottle from her and swallow the rest of its contents. It’s cold and deliciously tart. I set the empty on the bedside table, lie back on the bed, and pull her down on top of me, because it’s my new favorite thing in the world. I wrap my arms around her and inhale the fresh, peppery scent of her skin.
“So you rescued Juanita,” she says against my neck. “And now she’s on vacation with you?”
“Her and Tabby are inseparable now. Oh—I didn’t mention—we rescued Tabitha, too. Same psycho had both of ’em.”
When Angeline raises her head and stares at me, I shrug. “Like I said, long story. The upshot of it all is that the two of them somehow convinced Juanita’s mother and psychiatrist that it would be good for Juanita to get away on vacation for a while, so here we are. One big, happy family.”
My left ear starts to buzz like it does at high altitude when it needs to pop. I work my jaw, but no luck. Why are my lips tingling?
“I envy your happy family,” Angeline says gently. She presses a tender kiss just below my earlobe. Her voice drops. “And I want you to know this was never the plan. I meant it when I said I don’t do one-night stands. I never mix business and pleasure. Well…until you.”
Business?
The bed does a lazy roll, like we’re riding a wave on a boat.
Heart pounding, I jerk upright. Angeline leaps off me and backs away, keeping a watchful eye on my face. When I try to stand, the room slips sideways. I look at the empty orange juice bottle, her small handbag on the console above the fridge, and, with a bolt of horror, realize what happened.
“Angel! You didn’t!”
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m so, so sorry.”
She sounds like she actually means it.
I walk toward her, but in two steps, my balance fails me. I stumble and crash to a knee. The room spins wildly and begins to darken. Everything gets fuzzy around the edges. Indistinct. A sudden hot rush of anger is the only thing keeping my eyes open.
“What is it?” I demand, furious to hear my words slur.
“It’s potent but not harmful, I promise,” she says, wringing her hands. “You’ll wake up with nothing but a headache. There are no lasting effects.”
With the last of my willpower, I force myself to lift my head. I focus on her face. Her beautiful, lying face. “Oh there’s gonna be one lasting effect,” I growl, teeth gritted against the encroaching darkness. “And the next time I see you, woman, I’m gonna tell you all about it.”
She has the good sense to look afraid.
Her face is the last thing I see before the room fades to black and I slump to the floor, unconscious.
Eight
Mariana
