Selene settles beside me on the bed, stroking the hair from my forehead. “Feels nice,” I mumble, leaning into her touch like an eager puppy.
“You’re not a placeholder, Jared.”
“So you don’t have a mate?” Her hand stills. Don’t like that. Want her touching me always. I tug until her fingers tangle in my hair. She takes the hint and starts playing with the golden strands. “Is that why you call me Golden Boy? Because I’m blonde?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I used to dream of you. Before you came to town. Every night I’d see you, a stranger who practically shone golden. Your hair adds to it, but there’s something in you that shines through in everything you do. That’s why I call you Golden Boy.”
“I’m tired.” My eyelids are too heavy, and I lose that battle to keep them open.
“That’s OK. You can go to sleep.”
She starts to get up, and I reach out to capture her wrist. She can’t leave me. “Stay with me. Don’t leave me for your mate. Promise.”
Soft lips press to my forehead. “I promise. I’ll always be yours, Jared, and you’re mine.”
Conscious thoughts slide away from me as I sink into sleep. The last thing I remember is pulling Selene closer.Yes, I’m hers. Forever.
Chapter 19
Jared
Waking up to find Selene plastered against my side isn’t an unwelcome surprise. I can’t remember how we ended up in bed together, which is disappointing, especially since this is the first time I’ve had the pleasure of waking up with her in my arms. That, coupled with the throbbing beneath my skull, is cause for concern.
Gingerly, I sit up, careful not to jostle Selene too much—I don’t want to wake her. Chances are if I’m this hungover, she probably ended up looking after my drunk arse last night. The least I can do is let her sleep in. I remember having one beer with dinner—everything after that is a little… fuzzy. But if I’m this hungover, I must have had more than one. Shots maybe? God, I hope I didn’t do anything embarrassing.
Stealthily, I ease out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, hoping showering will help me feel more human. Demon. Whatever. I need a shower. Then coffee. Then I can worry about dealing with the aftermath of my drunken escapade.
After letting the hot water wash away my grogginess, I quietly change into jeans and a t-shirt. My glasses aren’t in their case, which is odd. It takes a little searching, but eventually I spot them peeking out of Selene’s coat pocket where it’s drapedover the wingback armchair in the corner. She still shows no sign of stirring, so I head downstairs without disturbing her. Soft sunlight streams into the kitchen when I open the blinds, and I down a large glass of water while my eyes adjust to the light. I definitely drank too much last night.
A few minutes later I hear light footsteps. “Do I smell coffee?” Selene asks hopefully from the kitchen doorway.
My mouth goes dry. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts, the material falling to mid-thigh. The navy-blue fabric is a stark contrast to her fair skin, and I can’t help but think how much better it would look bunched up around her waist while I?—
Shaking myself out of the lusty thought, I come back to reality. “Looks like sniffing out caffeine is a family trait,” I joke. “Here.”
Her fingers brush mine as she accepts the freshly filled mug. “About last night?—”
“I am so sorry. The last thing I remember is us finishing dinner, but the headache I woke up with tells me I must have been a mess.”
Selene wheezes, choking on her coffee, and I rush to where she leans against the kitchen island to pat her on the back. “You don’t remember anything? At all?”
“No,” I reply, drawing out the word slowly. “Why, what did I do? What happened?”
“Nothing,” she answers quickly.Too quickly. God, it must have been bad if she doesn’t want to tell me.
“Seriously, what did I do?”
See peers up at me from beneath thick lashes. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope. Blame the investigative reporter in me.” Leaning against the countertop opposite the island, I fold my arms across my chest ready to wait her out.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “After dinner, you got us another round of drinks from the bar. I got chatting to Dove and Cordie on my way back from the ladies’. By the time I made it back to our table, you were plastered and saying you’d been drugged.” My heart stops. I was drugged? “You weren’t, don’t worry,” she rushes to reassure me. “But Mav, being the complete fucking idiot he is, thought it would be funny to give you a bottle of Devil’s Brew instead of a normal beer.”
“Devil’s Brew?” That doesn’t sound good.
