Page 54 of Hell Hath No Fury
They take her vitals, they give me instructions.
"Yep, someone definitely drugged her," I tell the guys. I'm carrying a sleeping Audra Sullivan toward the car waiting for us.
"Here I thought you were practicing for the wedding night," Mark jokes.
"Now isn't the time for jokes. They checked her out in the ambulance, but what they could do for her in the hospital, I can do at home."
Alex coughs. "You're taking her home? To your home?"
I never bring women to my place. Ever. But this is an exception. This is a woman—a coworker and maybe something more who needs help.
"Yeah. Someone's gotta watch her, and her roommate was way too drunk for that—though, while I was walking away, she did threaten my life if I do anything, and I quote, 'untoward to Audra while she's out of it.'. Like I'd do that," I scoff.
"It's obvious after what happened to Audra that not every guy out there are gentlemanly like we are," Mark says.
"Sometimes we aren't very gentlemanly, but drugging. That pisses me off," Alex adds. "We'll go with you, just in case something happens."
I have no idea how to take care of someone who's been drugged, but I'm going to do my best to make sure Audra's comfortable.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Audra
Oh God. My head. It's throbbing, pounding, stabbing. Shit. How much did I drink last night?
I attempt to open my eyes, when I do, I wish I hadn't. I'm not in my bed. I bolt upright and groan. I hold my head and start praying for mercy.
I have no idea where I am or who lives here. I hear male voices. Holy shit! What did I do? I look down at myself. I'm in a large Cambridge University t-shirt and my panties are still on. No bra and no dress, though. Yikes. I lie back down and shift and wiggle a bit. No pain in my girly parts—or any other parts, if you know what I'm saying.
I try to piece the night together. I remember going to the club, dancing with Shannon and Levi, going to the bar… after that's where it goes fuzzy.
Footsteps approach and I pull the sheet up to just beneath my eyes. Who…?
"Holy shit," I whisper as he rounds the corner. His muscles are bulging everywhere, and the colorful tattoos I caught a glimpse of on his arms a few times at the office, run all over his torso to disappear down those low-slung pajama bottoms. Those are the only thing he's wearing, and my brain malfunctions.
He takes a sip of his coffee and scratches his chest. "Hey, you're awake. How are you feeling?"
I know. I know without having to see that my bed head is awful. My hair ends up everywhere. But Derrick's bed head? Sexily mussed. What did he ask? Oh yeah…
"My head is killing me, my mouth feels like sandpaper, and my stomach is moaning for food but groaning at the thought."
He grins. Grins. Know how many times I've seen Derrick Pierce grin? Twice—three times including this one. It's rendering me stupid.
In comes Mark, dressed the same way as Derrick, with Alex following behind. Shirtless. Pajama bottoms. Bare feet. Coffee in hand. They have nearly the same dark brown hair color, but their eyes are all different. Derrick's are blue, Mark's are hazel, and Alex's are green. All three are sexy as sin and standing there looking at me for answers. I don't have any.
"I don't remember what happened," I whisper, trying not to wince. What if I did something kinky with the three of them? What if… Lord have mercy. But I'm not sore, and I know for sure these three—even just one of them—would make me feel painfully good. That is not the case right now.
Mark chuckles. "Don't worry we didn't double-O seven you."
"What?" I whisper.
"You know. Pierce is known as 007 for his womanizing ways," Alex adds.
"Uh, yeah." Normally I'd have a lot to say about 007, but right now, I am off my game. I was drugged. They saved me. What the hell is going on?
"Nothing happened last night," Derrick informs me.
I'm not sure if I'm happy about that or disappointed. I take my time looking them over. All three tatted with muscular chests, scruffy beards, bed head—disappointed. Definitely disappointed.
