Page 104 of Bared

Her ocean-and-earth scent. Her soft but strong arms. Her amazing aqua eyes.

Wait. Her eyes.

What was going on with them? Why were they so red and grieving and wet? And yeah, he knew that for a fact, because all those saltwater drops were now raining on him. But how?

How had she suddenly swung around to be leaning over him?

How had he gotten here, sprawled beneath her?

And how was his head now consumed by noise of a different kind? A revving hum, followed by the whine of high-powered engines.

Jet engines.

Shit. Wait. I’m not on this flight manifest, gang. This isn’t the plan!

He struggled to transform the words from protests in his head to sounds on his lips. He had to. He had to get the hell off this flying VIP lounge, not on. It was the smart move. It was his only choice.

The right choice…

He opened his mouth to say just that. But again, it was as far as he got. The fuses between his brain and his mouth were severed. He could only lie here and silently panic while Jayd sobbed harder and the engines screeched louder.

But then, even the panic was gone.

As a black blanket got draped across his consciousness.

Before he fully succumbed to the night, Jayd’s desperate rasp was once more a haven for his senses. And his soul. And his heart. But her entreaty wasn’t for her Creator anymore. She was pleading to him—with a message that pierced a thousand holes into his aching soul.

“Brickham! Brickham! It is your turn to hang on, okay? Are you listening to me, damn it? Do not even think of letting go, Brickham. Stay with me, Brickham. Please. Please stay with me!”

Can’t…stay. Have to…keep you safe. You’re…the most important thing now…

More things he had to say. So many things he had to tell her. All the important things in his heart and soul. All the ways she’d captured both of them, possibly forever. Probably forever. But again, none of it connected to his lips.

Tell her. You have to tell her, damn it!

“P-P-Pixie…”

It was all he could manage before the blanket rose up again, thicker and darker than before. Unconsciousness wasn’t fucking around this time. It wanted him—and it was damn well going to claim him.

“Creator’s blessed mercy!”

Emme’s gasp barely dented Jayd’s awareness. She could spare no extra energy on it, too consumed with threading coherent thoughts past the chaos consuming her every nerve ending.

“Mother of God.”

Oz’s low growl was no help either. His taut dismay was like a psychic butter knife, slathering thick dismay through her psyche. It weakened the fingers she still had twisted around Brickham’s. Her other hand, attached to the arm that cradled his head against her lap, was clamped to the ledge of his shoulder—

Where a splotch of red had become a full bloom.

She pulled him closer, hating herself for causing his sharp groan. But letting go was not an option. When she had even thought about doing that, outside on the tarmac, fate had punished her by letting hell break loose.

No.

That was not hell. Not even close.

This was.

The rush of the tarmac outside the plane’s windows. The abrupt climb of the sleek machine, threatening to separate her from where Brickham had fallen near the galley. His darker bellow, stabbed by profanities she did not even recognize.