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28
Grace
Light assaulted my eyes. Even with them closed, it was too bright. I pulled my tongue off the roof of my bone-dry mouth. Trying to swallow down a drop of spit to clear my raw throat. But it was no use.
My head throbbed. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet, and the world was already spinning. Even my hair hurt.
This is why I didn’t drink. Not just because I hadn’t been allowed, but it wasn’t worth feeling like crap the next day.
One thing that wasn’t damaged was my memory. Last night came back to me in striking detail.
Vander deciding to take me dancing instead of going to the stuffy charity event. The guy grabbing me. Vander protecting me.
And the limo.
That recollection seemed brightest of all. How he’d tried to be a gentleman until he wasn’t. Until he was whispering filthy things in my ear as I rode his hand in front of the driver.
Heat pooled low in my stomach as I remembered it all. His rough hands on me. His stubble rubbing along my skin. His skilled tongue as he pillaged my mouth.
My body ached for more. My lips still felt swollen. A thrill raced down my spine as I wondered if I could see him on my skin. Had his lips left a mark?
I groaned, rolling onto my back on the bed. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. Yes, he was my husband. But I hadn’t wanted this marriage. Or him.
He was a criminal. But caring.
He was a killer. But kind.
He was a gangster. But gorgeous.
My mind and my heart warred.
“Argh.” I said, louder this time. Unable to stop the noise from conveying my racing thoughts.
“I guess that tells me how you’re feeling.”
With a squeal, I jumped up, opening my eyes. Vander walked into the room, looking more handsome than anyone with a hangover had the right to. His hair was damp from a shower, and he smelt like sandalwood. And sin.
His long legs carried him to the side of the bed as I yanked the covers up. He wore jeans and a plain black Henley. The exposed skin at his collar, showing a glimpse of his tattoos, had me rubbing my thighs together to relieve this deep ache inside me. One that last night hadn’t sated. Instead, this desire for him only grew.
It didn’t help when he set a tray on the bedside table to cup my cheeks. His thumbs brushed along my skin, making me tingle. His smile was soft as he tucked my wild hair behind my ears.
“You’ve looked better too.” I narrowed my eyes, and he chuckled. “Hangover cure.”
He handed me a glass full of a thick, green liquid. My nose scrunched as the earthy scent reached me. “Why don’t you look as bad as I feel?”
“Because I didn’t drink like you did, Sunflower.”
That was true. Last night had all been about me. Doing something I liked. Letting me have fun. Kissing me. Touching me.
Then, when I’d fallen asleep, okay, passed out, he’d carried me up to bed in my room. He didn’t push me. Didn’t try to extend the night or my lack of inhibitions. He’d even stepped out of the room while I’d changed into pajamas. I ignored the sliver of disappointment.
“Drink up.” He tipped the glass towards my lips. “I figured we’d change our normal breakfast routine. Because you’re not feeling great, but also, I have something to show you.”
“What?” I gulped down the drink as I watched him. His hands dug into his pocket like he was looking for his knife. His nervous habit. I hadn’t seen him doing it much lately.
“Get ready and you’ll see.”
* * *
