Intoxicated (19 page)

“Are you okay?” He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his elbow. When she didn’t respond, he slid his hand down between her legs. The bold movement elicited a startled gasp. “Good. I was worried for a minute.”

“I think I had an out of body experience.” She made an ineffectual attempt to push away his hand. “I’m so sore that I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll be fine.” Still, he removed his hand and laid his head back onto the pillow. “I’ll have you in fighting shape in no time.”
 

A light snore from the other pillow brought a smile of approval to his lips.
About damn time
, he thought. It had taken four rounds of skillful sex to break through that freaking wall of armor around her passion. During that time, he’d used every trick in his considerable arsenal of talents to excite her. He’d never had to work so hard for anything in his life. The stubborn girl had fought him every step of the way, but in the end, he’d worn her down with sheer persistence and patience.
 

He rolled onto his back and winced in pain. The sharp edges of her nails had raked him from nape to waist when he’d taken her that last time, not that he minded. Her cry of bliss still rang in his ears, a far cry from the bottled-up bitch he’d admired from afar for so long. As she slept peacefully beside him, he twisted to find a more comfortable position, one that didn’t involve his back. A little pain existed in all pleasures, especially those of the flesh. And she had given him considerable pleasure — more than any other woman he’d had.

With a half moan, she turned toward him, fitting herself into the curve of his body; her head snuggled into the crook of his neck.
So sweet
, he thought, not minding the weight of her shoulders across his arm. He pulled her closer; tucking her against him as if to protect her from whatever demons might exist in her dreams, and pushed away the inexorable lust that flamed when her naked breasts rubbed against his chest.

“Sleep well, baby,” he murmured into her hair and let himself drift into sleep.
 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Brilliant daylight exploded behind Ally’s eyelids, sending shards of pain into the epicenter of her brain. With a groan, she drew the covers up over her face and tried to sink back into the dark anonymous bliss of sleep. It was too late. Someone yanked the quilt and sheet from the bed, leaving her naked and shivering on the mattress. With a groan, she lurched into a sitting position and groped frantically for anything to cover her nakedness.

“What the —?” As the words fell from her lips, the space between her temples exploded. Squinting against the daylight, she found Jack standing fully dressed before her, a half-smile of amusement on his lips. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You were expecting someone else?”
 

Ally snatched up the pillow behind her and used it as a shield to cover her nudity. The mattress rolled as Jack sat beside her. A second groan escaped her lips and she raised a hand to grip her forehead. “I feel terrible. Like someone ran over me, backed up, ran over me again then dragged me behind the car for good measure.”

“Here. Drink this. It’s a little hair of the dog that bit you. You look like you need it.” He pressed a tall, sweating glass into her hand, the coolness refreshing against her heated palm.
 

Warily, she raised the glass to her lips with shaking hands and took a tentative sip, gagged, and sputtered. He took the glass from her, pounded her hard on the back until her senses returned, and handed the glass back to her. “Drink it all.”

“It tastes terrible. What’s in it?” A violent churning of her stomach caused her to inhale sharply. “I can’t drink it. I’ll puke.”

“I promise it will make you feel better. Now drink.” He set the glass to her lips and raised it encouragingly as if she were a child. “It’s a secret hangover remedy that’s been in the family for generations. I’d tell you what’s in it but then I’d have to kill you, and I really don’t want to clean up the mess.”

With a grimace, she did as she was told, forcing down the spicy liquid in its entirety. He took the glass, refilled it with a small pitcher on the nightstand, and encouraged her to drink that one too. The heat of liquor spread through her veins and left a pleasing warmth in its wake. Ten minutes later she felt like a new woman, well enough to stand without vomiting and search for her clothes.

“What time is it?” she asked as she frowned at the remnants of her blood-spattered dress.
 

Jack scowled. “What is your deal with time? It’s like the second thing out of your mouth every time I see you. Don’t you ever just go with the flow?” He rummaged through the chest of drawers and came up with a black t-shirt sporting the Grim Reaper on the back and a pair of cut-off sweats several sizes too big for her frame. “Here. You can wear these. You’re welcome to use the shower if you want.”

“I saw your shower. It’s disgusting. I wouldn’t give my dog a bath in there.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You actually use that thing?”
 

“Not today. I want your smell on me.” Mischief glimmered in his eyes as he flopped on the bed. “I thought we could go get something to eat before I take you home. It’s too late for breakfast but we could grab some lunch.”

“That’s okay. I’ll grab a cab.” A feeling of awkwardness descended over her. She needed time to process what had happened between them and physical distance from the sexual chemistry that stretched between them.
 

“Are you kidding me? Now that I’ve got you in my clutches, I’m for damn sure not going to let you go — at least not yet.” The sexy baritone turned sweet and cajoling. “Come on. You need some food to soak up that alcohol.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto his lap. “A quick sandwich and then I promise to take you home.” Shivers of desire crawled down her spine as his nose nuzzled along her ear.

“Oh, okay.” Her body melted against his. When he did things like that her willpower dissipated. Lust spiked through her, stronger than before and more insistent. She turned her head to find his lips and lost all coherent thought.

The vibration of his cell phone interrupted their interlude. With great reluctance, Jack tore his lips from hers and tried to focus. She had kissed him first. The novelty sent all the blood skittering to his groin in a flashflood of desire. He’d put his phone on vibrate the night before and in his drunken pursuit of all-things-Ally, had forgotten about it. Sober — or relatively sober — and in the light of day, that idea seemed less sensible than it had.
 

With an apology, he disentangled himself from Ally to check his messages. Twenty-two texts and eighteen missed calls. The last two were from Randy, probably ready to return home, checking to see if the coast was clear. The others came from various unknown numbers which were undoubtedly Chelsea. He sighed and scrolled through the texts which ranged from pitiful begging to outrage, all demanding his immediate presence. A sense of impending doom descended on his previous elation and squashed any notion of a day of carefree fun with Ally. He listened to Randy’s voicemail and his heart plummeted to the floor with a thud.

Chelsea had been admitted to the hospital.

Shit!

He raked a hand back through his hair and scowled at the phone then at Ally. At her look of alarm his expression softened and emotion tugged sharply at his heart. She looked so incredibly hot in his too large t-shirt, with her unruly hair pulled into a messy bun high on her head, and all the makeup washed from her face. Somehow during the night she’d gotten to him, managed to worm her way into his heart, past the emotional stronghold that had kept him safe from women for so long.
 

“What’s wrong?” She placed a gentle hand on his face. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.” He turned his head and brushed his lips over the palm of her hand, forced a smile. “I guess we’ll have to do lunch another time. Someone’s been admitted to the hospital and I need to go see if they’re okay. Do you mind taking a cab home?”

“It’s her, isn’t it?” The flat tone of her voice made the inquiry more statement than question.

For a second he considered lying to her, but it wasn’t his style. There was no chance for a relationship between them if he continued to pretend that Chelsea didn’t exist. “Yes. It is, but it’s not what you think. Like I said…she’s got problems...serious problems.”

A look of mingled relief and disappointment crossed her face then disappeared behind the mask. In the blink of an eye, he had destroyed the bond of intimacy that had blossomed overnight between them. Chelsea had destroyed it, to be more precise, but he was just as guilty because he had let her do it. Damn her and damn himself for being such a fool. For a brief moment, he considered letting Chelsea rot alone in the hospital but he would never forgive himself if permanent harm came to her. After all, the responsibility of her demise sat squarely on his shoulders.
 

While he placed a quick call to Randy for details, Ally dialed the phone number of the taxi service on her cell and made the arrangements. She gathered her shoes and purse and turned toward the door to leave. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry about this. I’ll get it straightened out. I promise.”

“You’ll call me later, right? Otherwise I’ll worry.” She hadn’t met his eyes since he’d mentioned Chelsea’s name, but she looked up at him now, met his gaze with her green eyes and smiled. The warmth of it tingled down to his toes. She rose on her tiptoes and dropped a light kiss on his lips. “Is that okay?”

It was more than okay. It was about the best thing he’d ever had a woman say to him. This was about more than mutual sexual gratification; this was about caring. She cared about him. She would worry about him. No matter what kind of shit Chelsea brought his way, he could face it knowing that Ally cared.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

For the first time in days, Jack needed a cigarette. The antiseptic atmosphere of the hospital set his nerves on edge and evoked memories of a past that he’d rather forget. He twisted in the chair of the waiting room, looking for a more comfortable position and finding none. An hour passed. Tense-faced medical staff rushed in and out of Chelsea’s room, but no one had bothered to stop and talk to him.
 

Outside, the heat had climbed to record-breaking temperatures. Inside the hospital, the air was close and humid as if the cooling units couldn’t keep up with climbing heat. The vein on the side of his temple throbbed with an impending headache. He ran a shaking finger around the inside of the collar of his t-shirt. He should have saved a little of that hangover remedy for himself.

He shifted in the chair again and tried to concentrate on the television news update. Instead his thoughts wandered to Ally. The memory of her sweet kisses brought a smile to his lips that were immediately wiped out by a sharp pang of guilt. It seemed wrong to feel such hope when Chelsea could be dead or dying in the next room. Sure, it was her own careless disregard for her well-being that put her in that hospital bed, but he couldn’t ignore the part he’d played in helping her get there.
 

 
“Are you here for Chelsea?” A young man in green hospital scrubs and a pair of red Doc Marten’s on his feet stepped into Jack’s line of sight. He looked too young to be a doctor, but his professional demeanor said otherwise.
 

“Yes.” Jack stood from the chair and shook the doctor’s hand, a nice firm handshake that said the guy knew his business.

“Are you a relative?” The doctor peered over his black-rimmed glasses with obvious doubt.

Jack ran a hand back through his hair when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the waiting room window that looked out over the courtyard. When had he started to look so rough? With his tattoos peeking beneath his shirt sleeves and three days of stubble on his cheeks, he looked like a disreputable homeless person. The doctor released Jack’s hand and wiped his palm on his scrubs.

“I’m her...husband…
ex
-husband,” Jack replied, stumbling over the distasteful word.

“I see.” If the doctor noticed Jack’s hesitation, he didn’t let on. “Well, your wife was quite lucky. She suffered an overdose of cocaine and Valium. Her heart stopped twice in the ambulance, but we were able to revive her. She’s resting comfortably right now. And I’m happy to say that the baby is fine.”
 

“Jesus.” Jack’s knees gave way and he sank back into the chair.
The baby?
He had no idea the girl was in such a mess. No wonder she’d been hounding him for money. She was desperate. The baby’s father had probably ditched her — not that he blamed the dude — poor schmuck.

“Does your wife have a history of drug abuse, Mr. Jameson?”
 

Jack nodded.

“Do you think this was a suicide attempt or an unintentional overdose?”

“I’m sure it was unintentional.” Chelsea was too self-centered to kill herself on purpose. “She’s had a problem for the last ten years.”

“Then I’d like to recommend a treatment facility that specializes in helping pregnant addicts. She can go directly from the hospital to this facility. It would be the best thing. I doubt the baby could survive another traumatic event like this one.”

“She’s been to rehab before. Six times so far and never made it through even once.”