“I feel much worse than that.”
He didn’t laugh at her jest. “Do you need me to go find Indigo?”
“They couldn’t reach her. It’s fine?—“
“So help me god, Natasha, if you say it is fine one more time, I will spill red wine on your dress.”
She laughed silently as her heart swelled. “I feel like death warmed over, but I just had a Coke, I have what Niamh thinks is the cure, and the second Gerard’s back is turned, I am going to sneak out of here. I will be?—“
He put up a finger, a warning in his glowing eyes.
She smiled at him. “I will be okay.”
“What does Niamh think—” He noticed her untouched drink. “Ah, right. The hair of the dog.”
He took the glass and pressed his full lips to the rim. She watched the brown liquid crawl toward his mouth, and then his Adam’s apple as it bobbed with his swallow. He nodded, probably to himself.
“Good quality. It might help.”
She couldn’t bring herself to want that kind of help.
He clearly saw that and kept the drink. He’d finish it.
“You look handsome,” she admitted, because he’d made her feel pretty earlier when he couldn’t help staring, and because he made her feel cherished now, watching over her and offering to go get help despite being the most important person in the room. “You look equally handsome when you’re all battle stained and shirtless.”
“I don’t smell as good then, though.”
She laughed, letting her head fall against him. His arm constricted, wrapping around her shoulders now. His thumb stroked her bare flesh.
“You are a vision,” he murmured. “You are equally a vision when you wake up in the morning, all sleepy and groggy, notsure if you’re in a good mood or angry that you’re awake, wearing a little grin and then a pout.”
A memory stirred from last night that she couldn’t quite grasp, hazy and blurred. She tilted her head back to look him in the face. His eyes dipped to hers, still glowing brightly, so open. In that quiet, unguarded moment, something deep and raw moved within his gaze, answered by a warmth pulsating in her middle.
“Do you want me to close my eyes?” he murmured, his lips curled at the corners. “You don’t seem well enough to go running just now.”
“When have you seen me in the morning?”
His gaze traced her features as though he were memorizing every line. “Just the once, and I will remember it always.”
She reached up to run two fingers against his raven stubble, drawing them along the underside of his chin.
“Yes, close your eyes,” she whispered.
He drank her in for another moment, giving her his entire focus, before doing as she said.
She trailed her fingers to the other side of his jaw before applying pressure. His face turned slightly and then he bent as she reached up for him. Their lips touched softly at first, electricity running between them, and then more firmly, moving together.
A wave of dizziness overcame her, forcing her to pull back. “I amreallyhungover.” She kissed him softly one more time before letting him straighten so she could lean against him again. “I don’t remember the last time I was this hungover.”
“It’s the cheap booze. Mass quantities certainly don’t help, but the quality makes everything ten times worse.”
He took a sip of her drink—his drink now.
“I can’t not know—did I slap you last night?” she blurted.
His lips curled even more. “Twice. Don’t talk about it, though, or I’ll get hard again—too late.”
“Are you super mad and just too nice to say anything?”
