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“Do you always tend a bit high?”
He shakes his head, so slight I nearly miss it.
It’s likely a side-effect, then—of his withdrawal process. That or he intensely dislikes sitting near me.
I look at his handsome profile, gone from jovial to serious.
“May I ask…what was your last dose? Of medication,” I manage.
He blinks, his gaze still pointed straight ahead, and I realize my hunch was correct. He doesn’t want to look at me. “Tapered down to eighty,” he says.
“Eighty…”
“Milligrams.”
I lick my lips. “Of…”
“Valium.” His eyes find mine.
Eighty? Eighty milligrams a day of Valium was his low dose? My brain stumbles. I realize my mouth is open. I should say something. Something affirming. I just can’t process.
“Into the bath,” I manage.
Something harsh crosses his features. “Right.” He exhales and starts to stand.
“Wait.”
“I’m fine, Finley. I can’t be in here.” He tugs his shirt over his head and strides toward the door.
“What do you mean?” I call after him.
“What do you think?” His tone is hard, but as I reach his side, he pauses with his arm stretched toward the door.
“Because of all the medication?”
“Never let a junkie in the drug store, Finley. Didn’t someone tell you that?”
I see his hand shake as it wraps around the door handle. I don’t know why—perhaps because I can’t stand to see him trembling as he does—but I wrap my arms around his waist from behind.
I can feel the pumping of his torso with his too-fast breaths. I press my cheek against his back and hear his heartbeat thunder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” His muscles clench as a shudder jerks through him. He turns around, escaping my grip with the movement, and I find his eyes are hard. His face is pale.
“For asking you inside. And—” I swallow against my aching throat before I whisper, “I’m sorry I can’t help. I asked for the location of the key to the controlled substances safe. I couldn’t get it from him. From Doctor.”
His eyes shut. “I don’t want it,” he whispers.
I’m not sure if I should touch him when he’s clearly upset, but I find I can’t help myself. I grab his hand, linking our fingers as his eyes open to find mine.
For the longest moment, we stand there staring at each other—and I feel his pain. I feel how lost and tired he is, how difficult it must be for him to endure. Then he tugs me closer, strokes his hand back through my hair, and lowers his mouth to mine.
His lips are firm and soft and warm. I feel like I’m falling through space and time as his tongue nudges into my mouth in a velvet surge that makes my limbs quiver. My fingers—still laced with his—curl.
Then it’s in and out; it’s sinuous and slow…tender and firm…and I can feel my body throb and clench as I try to return his kisses. His mouth is hard and forceful. Mine feels soft and stupid. I can’t breathe as he devours me.
Then his arm laces around my waist, bringing my hips flush with his erection.
He steps back.
