Page 47 of Charmed

He'd opted not to call the others. There was no point in concerning them. The threat for tonight had come and gone. He and Fiona could update them in the morning. Instead, he'd been staring at her in a vain attempt to will her awake. Much better use of his time, in his opinion.

"Fi? Open your eyes." Please.

She shot up so quickly, he fell backward into the coffee table. The blanket sailed over his head. Crouching on the center cushion, palms out in defense, she jerked her wide turquoise gaze around the room.

"Whoa, it's just me. We're at my place."

She looked at him, huffing as if straining for air, her startled confusion apparent. After several ticks of the clock, she deflated and plopped onto her butt, legs crossed like a pretzel. She swiped a hand over her face, then glanced down at herself. Confusion made a comeback when she got a glimpse at what she was wearing.

"Those are Kaida's pajamas." He sat on the edge of the table in front of her. "And before you maim me, my housekeeper dressed you." It had taken an immeasurable amount of willpower to go upstairs and change clothes himself while Beth had helped Fiona out of her torn dress. Leaving her side had felt like all levels of wrong.

"Seriously, does my sister own anything that's not pink?"

Relief swept through him hearing her voice. He glanced at the outfit in question. It was a soft tee and shorts combo. "I think you look..." Best he just shut up. She seemed testy.

Her lips thinned into a flat line. "I look what?"

"Dangerous." Big bad ferocious Fiona Galloway. Wearing cutesy PJs. Talk about a wolf in sheep's clothing.

She gave him a you-done-gone-crazy glare. "Yeah. Because pink jammies with dancing ice cream cones strikes fear in everyone's hearts."

A bark of laughter escaped before he could help it. In an attempt to cover the mishap, he handed her the mug by his hip. "That's some of the restorative tea from Kaida's stash. It's probably lukewarm now."

"Thanks." She took a sip, winced, and scrunched her face. "What did you do to it?"

"Added sugar. It smelled like feet, but I knew you needed to drink it."

"Did you add all the sugar in all the land?" Regardless, she plugged her nose and slammed the contents like it was tequila night on Taco Tuesday. "Thanks, Willy Wonka." She passed him the mug.

He set it aside. "You're welcome. You totally saved our asses tonight. I should be thanking you. Man, babe. You were goddamn amazing out there."

"Said the James Bond impersonator who whisked us to safety." She combed her fingers through her hair, making him want with everything inside him to be that hand. "How long was I out?"

"From the time you fainted? A couple hours." Or years.

"I did not faint."

It was a toss up whether to weep or rejoice she was arguing. "Fine. A warrior coma, then."

"Precisely." She grinned and leaned her head against the cushion, closing her eyes. "Serves us right for trying to schedule sex, anyway. I was half wondering if you'd leave bills on the nightstand afterward."

Frozen, he dissected her nonchalant statement. And...nope. There was no tiptoeing around her meaning. "I made you feel like a hooker?" Rage—for him or her, he didn't know—pounded his temples.

"Hooker is such a strange word, don't you think? Who came up with that? Now, prostitute? That's a much more profound phrase in the grand scheme of—"

"Fiona," he growled, grinding his molars. "Can you stay on topic for one second, please?"

She peeked an eye open. "I thought hookers was the topic."

He reminded himself he liked her too much to kill her. "Why don't you ever listen to me?" Or answer a question without zigzagging like a cartoon map?

"I find it distracting."

Pressing his palms to his eye sockets, he counted to ten. "For starters, we didn't schedule sex. I simply made my intentions clear. If it wasn't tasks or training getting in our way, it was potions gone awry. I wasn't ready to take things to the next level before yesterday. Neither were you. And, second." He lifted his head to find her stoically watching him. "I didn't rush us or what we have brewing because I do respect you. How could you assume I thought of you like...?"

"A hooker?"

"Christ Almighty. Can we stop using that term?"

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