Tempt Me (28 page)

Where was Rafe? He’d been here; his scent still lingered in the room.

“I’m...okay,” she finally said. “A little nauseous. I guess I blew like Krakatoa, huh?”

Wyland's thin lips twitched. “I hear you left quite a path of destruction in your wake.”

She'd spewed like a volcano, all right—all over Rafe, Rafe's coat, his car... She closed her eyes and groaned. “Dr. Melvin's beautiful blouse.”

“Comes with the territory.” He tapped at a tablet, updating records and swiping others out of the way. The illuminated screen turned his already pale skin as white as parchment.

“What time is it?”

“Ten minutes before sunrise, Sunday morning.”

So she'd only been out a couple of hours. Outside her window, dawn painted the sky a watercolor pinkish gray. “Looks like you might be stuck here for a while.”

“Again, it comes with the territory.”

She bit her lip. “I'm sorry I blew you off on Friday. If I'd kept our appointment—”

“You probably would have needed surgery tonight.” Wyland said with a shrug. “Maybe without the dramatic cleaning bills, but you would have needed surgery just the same.”

“I don’t have time to be sick.”

“Penn repaired the perforation laparoscopically, so your recovery time should be relatively short.” He eyed her. “But if you don't do something about your stress level, you'll be back in this bed again in no time.”

Someone knocked softly on the door. Jack poked his head in. “Can we come in?”

We? Was Rafe here?

“For a few minutes,” Wyland said. “She needs to rest.”

Lukas followed Jack into the room. The door closed behind them.

Where was Rafe? He was the one she really wanted to see. But if he showed up right now, what the hell would she say to him? He’d been so angry, so hurt, but given the same set of circumstances, she'd make the exact same decision: take the pills.

Damn it.

Wyland glanced at one of the monitors standing on the pole at her bedside. “Your blood pressure is up. Are you in pain?”

She shook her head. “Could I get a drink of water? I'm parched.” Her mouth felt as dry as dust.

“Just a sip,” Wyland said.

Ice cubes rattled as Jack poured a couple of stingy ounces from a blue plastic pitcher dripping with condensation. He unwrapped a straw, placed it in the cup, and held it to her lips. Her incisions twinged as she sucked in the cool liquid, but the pain level was nowhere close to what she'd somehow gotten used to living with.

“How are you feeling?” While she drank, Jack stroked her stiff, sticky hair off her forehead with his big hand.

“Stupid. I'm feeling stupid.” Wyland was right; she’d let her stomach go untreated too long. She blinked back angry tears—or tried to, at any rate. Jack's worried expression made them spill over.

Jack set the cup down and gathered her in his arms, holding her while tears elbowed each other out of the way for the privilege of falling first. He held her for timeless minutes, murmuring nonsense words while tears leaked all over his dress shirt. She snuffled against his chest. “Can you hand me a Kleenex?” She was probably trailing snot, too.

Lukas, looking a little green around the gills, handed her white tissue. For him, simply being in the hospital was tough enough—all these second-hand emotions, all these smells and tastes—but with second-hand pregnancy hormones in the mix, his sensory system must be about maxed out.

Raising the tissue to her nose, she honked. Jack cracked a smile, his first since he'd entered her room. “Ouch.” She raised a hand to her stomach.

Wyland flicked a finger across the tablet. “Let me see when you're due for pain meds.”

Lukas was staring at her. “What?” she asked. “Do I still have blood on my face or something?”

“It's my fault you’re here in the first place. I knew you were brewing an ulcer.”

“No, it's not. It's my fault. Mine alone.” With a sigh, she lay back against the pillows. “Has anyone seen Rafe?”

Lukas and Jack exchanged a look.

“I found him nodding off at your bedside when I first came in,” Wyland responded. “I told him I wanted to examine you, and that he might want to use the opportunity to clean up, eat, maybe catch a short nap.”

Had he gone home, or was he still here in the building? Somehow it seemed too desperate a question to ask aloud.

“It's probably a good idea to let him to cool off a little first.” Lukas glared down at her like a displeased giant. “What the hell were you thinking?”

She closed her eyes. “So he told you.”

“Damn right he told me, though apparently Jack knew about this half-assed scheme of yours as well, and didn't shoot it down like any reasonable person would have.”

“Leave Jack out of this.”

“He shouldn’t have let you—”

“Let me, nothing,” Bailey snapped. “I took the pills from his office—
stole
them—without his knowledge. He noticed his count was off and called me on it. I explained my reasoning. He gave me the documentation set—” which she still hadn't read “—and described his own experiences before we discussed dosage. But puh-leeze. He had nothing to do with my decision to take them. Permission was not his to bestow.”

“The drug might have exacerbated a pre-existing medical condition,” Lukas said. “It...complicates matters somewhat.”

Yeah, it probably did. “Does Dr. Melvin think that's what happened?”

“Let's not jump to conclusions,” Wyland said. “The perforation’s timing could be entirely coincidental. At any rate, Bailey's experience provides valuable data. I understand you took the medication on one occasion last year, with no adverse effects?”

‘On one occasion?’ What on earth had Rafe revealed about their one-night stand, and to whom? She hesitantly nodded.

“We also know that ulcers are exacerbated by stress,” Wyland added. “That's an issue we can do something about.”

“We have to report this to SL Pharma,” Lukas said.

“Already in motion,” Wyland said. “Melvin, Penn and I will work up some case notes and present them to your father.” The tablet Wyland held chimed softly. As he read, one of his white-blond eyebrows climbed.

“What?” she said.

“Excuse me.” With no further explanation, Wyland left.

Bailey pointed at the door as it slowly swung shut. “See what I mean? That's what it's like to work with him.”

“Never mind Wyland,” Lukas said. “Why did you find it necessary to take the medication in the first place?”

“Lukas.” Jack's voice, though quiet, commanded attention. “Have you ever given any thought to what it’s like to be human, to be subject to pheromones, vampire thralls, and empathetic faerie mind melds on a day-to-day basis? What it feels like to have your personal will, your sense of self-control, erode under your feet? To not be able to trust your feelings and emotions?”

Yes, Jack understood.

“Don't tell me that you're taking those pills, too,” Lukas said. “When we’re not working, I mean.”

Jack laughed. “When aren’t we working?”

“Jack.”

“I take them...infrequently.”

Bailey suspected those infrequent occasions had a lot to do with Sasha Sebastiani. “Lukas, you’ve probably figured out by now that Rafe and I are...involved,” she said. “I figured that taking the pills would help me remember that the euphoric feeling most humans mistake for love is chemically induced.”

“But it is love,” Lukas argued. “Rafe loves you.”

“How can you know?” she pressed. “How can I—how can
anyone—
trust their feelings, knowing that pheromones are a factor?”

“My brother loves you.”

“How nice to be able to sniff emotions out of the air. If you remember, humans can't.” Though, to be fair, Rafe had told her, using words, that he loved her. Gah, she was so mixed up. “Lukas, Wyatt Cooper jerked me around like a fucking puppet. I had to try to level the playing field a little.”

“You're really going to compare your relationship with Rafe to the one you had with Wyatt Cooper?”

“They’re both incubi! How can I know the difference?”

The only sounds in the room were the soft beeping of the monitor, and a breakfast trolley rattling down the hall on the other side of the closed door.

“So why did you start taking more medicine?” Lukas suddenly asked.

“What?” She punched a button to silence the annoying beep. She could feel her pulse pounding perfectly well, thank you very much.

“You told Melvin that you'd recently increased dosage. Instead of taking half a tablet, as you and Jack originally discussed, you started taking full tablets instead. Why?” His gaze pinned her to the bed.

Good question. “The euphoria wasn't going away. It was getting worse.”

“Yet your thoughts and decision-making processes were unaffected?”

She nodded.

“Bailey, the medicine was working just fine. The euphoria you’re feeling? It’s coming from you.”

His soft words hit her like sniper fire.

“You love my brother. My brother loves you.” Striding to the door, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Now you have to decide if you have the guts to do something about it.” Lukas left the room. The door snapped behind him, a tiny, attention-getting slap.

She leaned back against the bed with a wince, resting a hand just below her sternum. “I don’t think my guts are quite up to it at the moment.”

Jack sat down in the chair beside her bed. “You realize you can't take the meds anymore, right?”

She nodded. Yeah, she realized that. But what she didn't know was what the hell she was going to do next.

***

R
afe paused outside Bailey's hospital room door.
Keep your cool. Just keep your cool.

The short time away from the hospital should have done him a world of good. After he'd scrubbed the mess off his hardwood floor, assembled a frightening bundle for the dry cleaners, and showered Bailey's blood off his body, he’d eaten something, collapsed onto the bed, and slept like the dead for a couple of hours. Unfortunately, seeing Bailey’s blood spattered across the interior of his Jeep in broad daylight brought it all back again.

He was pissed. And hurt. And angry. And miserably, miserably in love.

Taking a deep breath, he tapped on her door with his knuckle.

“Come in,” she called.

When he entered, he saw a split-second shaft of relief cross her face before it clouded up again. He inhaled surreptitiously. Her energy was better, healthier, but emotionally, she seemed to be a mixed bag—just like he was. With her freshly washed hair wet, parted on the side and combed flat, she looked achingly young. All traces of blood were gone, except for the bagged pint hanging off the IV rod, filling the tubing snaking into her wrist. She still looked pale as skim milk. The neck of the pastel blue hospital gown gaped, exposing her delicate collarbones. Hidden under the gown were three small abdominal incisions covered by gauze. He’d studied them while she slept, staring at them, ready to holler for help if they started gushing blood.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You look so much better.”

“I feel better, too.” She picked up the remote control and hit the mute button, eyeing the bags he carried.

“I brought you a few things. Some fleece jackets, long-sleeved T-shirts, yoga pants.” He’d also brought a bottle of the shampoo they'd taken to sharing, and several pairs of the delectable panties he'd bought for her. Yeah, dirty pool, but he’d come to realize that this game would not be won by ordinary means—and he meant to win.

Setting the duffle down by the single stingy closet, he walked to the bed with her purse. Her tiny nostrils flared.

Was she trying to read him? How freaking adorable.

“Hello,” he said softly, searching her face as he slowly lowered his head, giving her every opportunity to avoid his kiss if she wanted to. When she reached up, cupping his face and lifting her lips to his, relief shimmered like summer sheet lightning. Supporting her head and neck with his hands, he touched his mouth to hers, softly, so softly. A tiny noise escaped her throat, and she deepened the kiss, her fingers threading through his hair, the scrape of her nails against his skull a tender form of torture.

This was getting out of control fast. He reluctantly lifted his head.

She slapped her hand to mouth. “God, my breath must be horrible.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “But you could use some lip balm.”

“Yeah,” she replied, digging into her purse and somehow coming up with a tube of ChapStick on the first try. “There’s no checkbox for ‘human’ on your hospital’s admission form, but dry air is universal.”

“You’re dehydrated. Want some water?” He didn't wait for her response before picking up the pale blue plastic glass with a straw in it, and holding it up to her mouth.

She drank deeply, emptying the cup.

“More?”

“No thanks.” She sat back against the pillows propping her up against the upraised head of the bed. She wore one blanket around her shoulders like a shawl, and he could barely see the outline of her legs under the rest of the pile. Bringing her fleece clothing had been a good idea.

She pawed through the purse. “Where's my mini?”

Damn it. “I gave it to Lukas for safe-keeping. You'll hardly need it here, while you're recovering, will you?” Okay, that came out a little surlier than he’d intended.

Stare down. Her anger was a slow-burning fuse, but he wasn't backing down from this one. He gestured to the purse. “You have other phones if you need to make any calls. Your only priority while you’re here is to recover, to get well.”

Under the blankets, her left foot jiggled. “You had no right to do that.”

His own simmering anger boiled over. “I have every right,” he snapped. “I'm the one who watched you puke blood like a geyser.”

She raised a hand to her largest incision. “I’m hardly about to forget, but—”

“Hundred-hour work weeks,” he barreled on. “Not enough sleep, eating unhealthy food, no fresh air. And now those pills.” He laughed harshly. “You’re making some really poor choices right now, babe.”

“They're my choices to make.”

They were, damn it, but...With a sigh, he sat on the bed, setting the purse aside so he could take her hands. The mattress flexed under his weight. “Bailey, those pills probably punched a hole through your stomach lining. What the hell were you thinking, taking experimental medication on top of an ulcer?”