“Why not?” he demands.
“Too expensive. Fuck, put me down.”
He lowers me to the floor and as soon as my feet hit the ground I sprint to the bathroom, and hurl about two bottles of tequila into the toilet.
It never tastes as good coming up as it did going down.
Oh, sweet Jesus, make it stop. My stomach convulses and shudders, and I feel a sweat break out on my skin.
Suddenly my hair is scooped back off my face and a cold cloth is pressed to the back of my neck.
Fuck, I forgot he was here. How mortifying.
“You can go,” I mumble and rest my forehead on my arm, still cradling the toilet.
“I’ll stay.” His voice is firm and maybe a little grim.
“I’m okay, Will.”
“I’m not leaving you like this, so shut it.” He gently lifts my head and presses another cold cloth to my forehead, making me moan in delight.
“That feels good.”
“I know. Are you done throwing up?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, let’s get you in bed.”
“Hey!” My head jerks up and I pin him with a glare. “You’re not getting me into bed.”
“Yeah, I am. Don’t worry, sweetheart, no hanky panky.” He grins and I groan as another wave of nausea hits. I’m suddenly bone-tired.
“Okay.” I stand and he wraps an arm awkwardly around my waist. He’s just too tall for his own good. “I’m fine, Will. The worst is over. You can go.”
He glares down at me and wipes my face with the cool cloth. “I’ll make sure you’re asleep before I leave.”
“Why? I haven’t exactly been nice to you.”
“Because I’m not an asshole, and the sooner you realize that, the better.”
I frown at him, not understanding him at all. He opens the drawers in my dresser, shuffling through clothes and socks, then turns to me with a scowl.
“Where are your pajamas?”
“I don’t wear pajamas.”
“So what do you wear to bed?” he asks and plants his hands on his hips.
“Nothing.”
He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, then searches through my drawers again until he finds an old t-shirt and throws it at me. “Here, put this on.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m climbing in that bed with you, and you can’t be naked or I will be an asshole.” He looks almost angry.
“Turn around,” I murmur. When he’s facing the other direction, I quickly unzip and step out of my dress and pull the t-shirt over my head. I’m not wearing panties, but the t-shirt is long enough that you can’t see so I don’t care. “I don’t think I can take my sandals off without falling over.”
Will turns to me and his eyes soften. “You look so young right now.”
“I’m sure I look like shit, but okay. Sandals?”
“Sit.” He kneels before me and takes my shoes off, and then tucks me into the bed. He unbuttons his shirt, lets it fall off his shoulders and drapes it on my desk chair. Holy muscled body, Batman.
“Your place is nice,” he mutters.
“Hmm.” I close my eyes to block out the delicious image of a mostly-naked Will. I hear the zipper of his pants and the rustling of him stepping out of them, and then the bed dips as he crawls in beside me. He turns me away from him, and pulls my back against his front.
“Sleep.”
“Why are you still here?” I ask sleepily. I should demand that he go, but damn if this doesn’t feel good.
“I don’t know,” he whispers.
* * *
~Will~
She instantly falls asleep, tucked against me, her breath slow and even. Why am I still here? Good question. I got her home and in bed safely, she’ll just sleep it off and be fine in the morning, albeit a bit hung over. But lying here with her feels right, and for the first time in a long, long time I feel protective over a woman that I’m not related to.
She’s different. She doesn’t care about my job or my family connections.
And she told me no. That was new.
I smile and kiss the top of her head, enjoying the smell of peppermint in her hair and the way her soft hair feels against my nose. She sighs deeply and wiggles against me, pushing that tight, round ass against my groin. Her t-shirt rides up and I can feel her ass.
Her warm, naked ass.
Fuck me.
This little hazel-eyed woman has a body made for sex, a sharp wit and a killer smile. The dimple in her right cheek is fucking adorable. It’s too bad for me that she’s forever frowning at me.
I wonder what it will take to make her smile more, and trust me. Because I’ve got to see her again.
Meg whimpers softly and turns in my arms, burrows her face against my chest and wraps her arm around my waist, hanging on tight. I brush her hair off her cheek and kiss her forehead before falling asleep myself.
Hell yes, I’ll see her again.
Chapter Three
Two weeks later
“Meg, there’s a call for you on extension forty-six hundred.”
“Okay, Jill, thanks.” I set the chart I’ve been documenting medication doses into in its slot at the nurses’ station and pick up the phone.
“This is Meg.”
“Megan McBride?” a polite female voice asks.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“I hope so. This is Susan Jones. I’m with the Seattle football public relations office.”