Snort. As if anyone would be groping my old and lumpy body. I’d not always been this unattractive. In my twenties, I’d been considered a hottie with an hourglass shape and long silky auburn hair. Used to get my pick of guys, not that any of them lasted long. Back then I was a freewheeling spirit.
Now, despite not having kids, the weight I’d gained dragged my boobs, and my nipples no longer poked straight ahead. My flat belly from my twenties became a squishy muffin top in my thirties which then turned into a three-layer sponge cake by the time I hit my forties. My ass had more cottage cheese than I’d eaten in my life. My once luscious red locks? Gray and brittle frizz. Porcelain skin and high cheekbones? Replaced by rosacea cheeks and a jowly jaw.
To those who tsked—like my damnable sisters—I’d not meant to let myself go. It happened gradually, one delicious bag of chips, or awesome double Big Mac, or tub of ice cream at a time. Okay, so it was kind of self-inflicted. In my defense, I used to be able to eat whatever I damned well liked and not gain a pound. Getting older did me dirty, taking away my super metabolism, perfect skin, and hair that used to get complimented everywhere I went.
All that to say, whoever stripped me didn’t do it to ogle or grope my ass.
I dragged the soft fabric to my chest and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Where the heck was I, and what happened to my injuries?
With the sheet wrapped around me—after I wrestled it from the tightly-made bed—I shuffled to the window covered by the most insane blackout curtains. Curtains that, when pulled aside, showed a metal shutter covering the window with no visible means of opening it.
Hunh. So much for peeking outside.
“Hello, Skylar. I see you’re up, finally.”
The sound of a voice had me whirling a little too fast, and I ended up tangled in the sheet. While a tree in the forest might not make a sound if no one is around, I, with a male audience, most certainly did.
“Oomph. Ack. Argh. Fuck.” It took me a second to untangle enough that I could sit—red-cheeked with embarrassment because I’d probably flashed him. I then flushed with intense heat—not all from humiliation—as I saw the man leaning in the doorway observing me with crossed arms.
Despite his stern expression, he oozed gorgeous. Dark hair with a bit of a wave framing a square-jawed face, with the most intensely blue eyes I’d ever seen. Then again, could have been his super pale skin making them pop.
“Who are you? How do you know my name? Why am I here? Did you molest me?” I blurted.
My rapid-fire questions arched his brow. “I am Cillian. Your name was on your credit card in your purse. You’re here because, for some reason, I chose to not leave you to die in a parking lot. And I prefer my sexual partners conscious and participating.
“Oh.” That might have emerged a tad disappointed. I mean, no I didn’t want to be molested, but at the same time, it would have been flattering if such a handsome man found me irresistible. “What happened? How is it I’m uninjured?” Or so it seemed, since I’d been able to move without any pain.
“I can explain, but you might want to dress and drink something first, before the hunger hits.”
“I wouldn’t mind some clothes, but I’m not eating anything until I know what’s going on.”
“There are garments that should fit for the moment in the closet.”
“For the moment? What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t reply because he’d exited the room and shut the door behind him.
I might have followed to continue my harangue, but the promise of clothes had me shuffling my sheeted ass to the double louvered doors. I flung them open to see a few garments hanging. Tracksuits in three sizes. Double XL, XL and large. I grabbed the extra-large, despite knowing it would be snug. I planned to stay in denial about my increasing girth for as long as possible.
I squeezed into the sweatshirt and squashed my ass into the pants. At least they were a dark gray, so somewhat slimming, right? My naked coochie would have liked a pair of undies, but I didn’t spot any so I guessed I’d be going commando and sliming the crotch of the pants. Gross you say? More like reality. Unlike most men, women couldn’t avoid being moist down there—even my menopausal ass still had a bit of juice. At least my groin didn’t smell bad like my ex, Rory, who had a perpetual case of sweaty balls. It only took him trying to teabag once when I was sleeping for me to dump his ass—after I finished puking.
With my bits covered, I emerged from the bedroom to find myself in a really long hallway with gleaming hardwood floors, the length of it lined with closed doors on one side and a railing on the other that overlooked a living room decorated for Christmas. I gazed below at a big ass tree standing in a corner decorated in silver and gold—tinsel, ornaments, and lights. A fire crackled in the fireplace, the mantle of it holding a thick evergreen bough laced with ribbon. At the sound of a clink, I noticed Cillian placing a decanter and a pair of fluted glasses on a low-slung glass table.
“Join me,” he said loud enough for me to hear. How did he know I spied when he never looked up and I’d been super quiet?
Should I say no? That wouldn’t exactly accomplish much. I headed down the steps and debated running out the front door I spotted when I hit the main level. But if I bolted, I’d never know what happened to me, not to mention, how would I get home? I literally only had the clothes on my back. No shoes, wallet, keys… nothing.
I joined Cillian, noting the newness of his furniture and the quality. The leather couch surface pristine. The rug ivory white and unstained. The glass top surface of the table lacking strands of fur or nose prints. He obviously didn’t own any pets.
Cillian poured some dark red wine into a cup and handed it to me. “Drink.”
“I don’t drink booze.” Nor did I do drugs or smoke cigarettes. I walked the straight and narrow since that time I woke up in bed with the really old dude with no teeth. My rock bottom ended up being the only rehab I needed. I’d been clean since, but sometimes I missed having a vice.
“It’s not alcohol. Think of it more as a protein shake. You’ll need it after what your body endured.”
Aha, my first hint and it would of course be cryptic. “I didn’t imagine it. I was injured!”
“Never said you weren’t. The healing process will have depleted you. You’ll want to drink this before the hunger hits.”
