“It’s all right now, Hope.”
She didn’t respond and he realized she was under. Or so he thought. Her eyes sprang open and she tried to focus on him once more.
“I-I wanted to h-help the whooping crane.”
“Who wouldn’t,” Newman said, clueless as to what she was talking about but wanting to keep her calm. Seconds later her eyes closed again.
Newman pulled up the covers, then got out his laptop. Firing it up, he searched for Jay Herald. Who knew there were so many? He found one that had possibilities. Jay Herald, member of Wildlife. This was the organization he knew Hope was part of, because her mother had told Jake’s mother, who’d told him. Digging deeper, he soon had more of a picture of the man who had supposedly ruined Hope. Young, ambitious, he was now one of the head photographers for Wildlife. A position Hope had once held, but he didn’t see her name on their site anywhere.
CHAPTER TWO
Thousands of tiny, sharp needles were piercing her scalp. Hope forced her heavy lids open, then inhaled a shaky breath. God, the pain was fierce. She slowly scanned the room from left to right, but nothing was familiar. She tried to move her arm, and encountered an obstruction. Rolling over, she found a man lying beside her on the bed.
Mother of God, it all came back to her with painful clarity.
Paul Theodore Newman slumbered, his big, solid body relaxed on top of the covers. Hope eased herself upright. The movement caused her stomach to roll, but it steadied enough for her to look at his face. One of his eyes was black and swollen, and Hope knew she was the reason why.
She’d gone into that bar to get drunk, and ended up singing on a chair. Things were a bit vague after that, but she knew this man had arrived at some point and carried her out. What happened before and after, however, was unclear.
What she did know was that this was bad… very, very bad. Easing herself out of bed, she looked at the shirt she wore. It was Newman’s. Pulling the front forward, she saw her underwear was gone.
A shower, she remembered that part too. She walked into the bathroom, the smell hit her, and shame washed over her. She’d thrown up all over Newman. Closing the door, she slumped onto the toilet.
“You are a disgrace, Hope Lawrence. Jobless, penniless, and now you can add drunk to your outstanding credentials.”
Standing, she gritted her teeth as pain stabbed viciously through her head.
“No more than you deserve,” she muttered. Picking up the pile of stinking clothing on the floor, she threw it in the bottom of the shower, and turned it on. Stripping off the shirt she wore, she stepped in and scrubbed everything. The bathroom was thick with steam when she’d finished. Drying herself, she pulled Newman’s shirt back on and then hung her clothes on the heated towel rail. Newman’s very expensive shirt and trousers, she put over the shower.
“Pretty boy.”
They’d not seen a great deal of each after Hope left Howling to pursue her dream of becoming a wildlife photographer, and Newman became some kind of troubleshooter for failing businesses. They had nothing in common, and if she was honest, they never had. Even at school his sandwiches had been perfectly cut diagonals, and as fresh as when his mother had lovingly put them into his lunch box, and hers had usually ended mushed in the bottom of her bag, where she’d thrust them after making them hurriedly that morning.
Looking at the door, she wondered how long she could stay in there. Maybe he’d be gone by the time she left?
“You’ve never been a coward, Hope.”But now would be a good time to start, she thought, looking in the mirror.
She squeezed some of his toothpaste onto her finger and ran it around her teeth, then used his brush to attack her hair. She had no band to tie it up, so it had to be left to go wild and curly.
“I should just cut it and be done with it.”
The problem was, if she cut it short it frizzed out. It hung to her shoulders and was better long, so she could tie it up and get it out of her way.
Searching through Newman’s expensive leather toilet bag, she found his deodorant and used it. At least she was clean now. Ignoring the rock band playing inside her head, she inhaled deeply four times, then left the bathroom.
He was awake, and sitting against the headboard, blond curls mussed, one pale blue eye clear and focused on her, the other swollen nearly shut. He wore a gray T-shirt and jeans, big body seemingly relaxed, when he must be pissed off as all hell with her.
Newman always had that the ability to roll with whatever life threw at him, unlike her. He handled the notoriety of his name by shrugging at the taunts and letting his friends defend him. He was rarely riled unless she was nearby, and that rankled Hope, as some things deserved getting riled up over. She doubted he’d ever been passionate enough about anything to stand up for it. He was a serial people pleaser too, which was the exact opposite of her nature, and just another black mark against him as far as she was concerned.
“Morning,” he drawled.
Hope nodded. He’d been one of the cool kids in school, and as an adult he was still in that league. He and the others who lived in Howling. Good-looking, athletic, and damned annoying. She’d never been cool, more a nerd and uncool, not that Hope cared. Fashion and wearing the latest trends had never been a big deal in her household. Possibly because they couldn’t afford new stuff, but more likely because their mother had hammered home the fact that there were plenty of people in the world worse off than you, so be grateful for what you had.
“How’s the head?”
“I’m sorry,” Hope said quickly. “Shall I get you some ice?”
“Done that already, didn’t seem to do much good. Thanks anyway.”
