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“Forget about her. I never want you to get hurt again, Clay.”
Rob is as good as a big brother can be. We are each other’s rock, but mostly, he’s been my rock. I should really listen to him.
I yawn.
“Am I boring you?”
“No, you’ve just put some senses into me.” I stifle another yawn. “Hey, it’s late here. I’m gonna crash. Say hello to Matty, Graeme and Amber.”
“Good night, brother. Dream about giraffes and lions—I mean, not one eating the other.”
I lie on my stomach, one ear firmly on the pillow—a position that usually gives me the best chance to fall asleep. And it seems to be working.
Until a thump ruins my way to slumber.
I sit up. Sometimes pillows and mattresses can amplify surrounding noises because of the vibration. It’s an old building, and that could’ve been nothing more than a heavy step.
But something in me refuses to let it go.
“Ah, fuck it,” I murmur and swing out of bed.
The hallway is quiet and looks like a resort is supposed to at this hour—except for a bare foot poking out of a corner.
“Jesus…”
As soon as I round the corner, I see a woman in her nightgown lying face down on the parquet floor.
I kneel next to her, flipping her body.
Jesus Christ! It’s her! What the hell happened to her blonde hair?
More worryingly, what the hell happened to her neck? It’s bruised, and she’s breathing laboriously.
“Hey, can you hear me?” I tap her pale cheek, and she responds with painful moans.
I place her head on my lap. There’s no one around, and for now, I’m going to keep it that way. She’s barely dressed. I wouldn’t want anyone else to see her like this.
“Clayton…” Her call is barely audible, but there’s no mistake. She just said my name!
“Sweetheart, I’m going to carry you to my room, then I’ll call a doctor, okay?” I squeeze her hand. She has soft skin, but I feel a couple of bumps on her right palm—two lines of stitches run from below her ring finger to the base of her thumb. Those must’ve been some deep cuts.
With her head resting on my chest, I fling her arm around my neck. It falls delicately, but to my surprise, she tightens her grip. As we move, she buries her face in between my pecs as if refusing to look at whatever we’re passing.
“It’s just me,” I whisper as I carry her to my room. “The doctor will be here soon. You’ll be okay.”
She’s as light as a feather, but I must admit it feels good to have her hanging on to me.
“Clayton…” she moans in her weakening state.
I rest my face on her crown. There’s no sign of her iris scent, but I sense something else—the smell of woman that instantly tugs me into her. It’s like a connection has just been restored, that brief connection we shared when we first locked eyes with each other.
At my room door, I use one thigh to steady her as I struggle to find my key. “We’re almost there. Hang on.”
As soon as I step in, she falls still.
“Sweetheart?” I wish I knew her name so I could call her—because she’s stopped fucking breathing!
“No, no, no! Stay with me! Stay with me, damn it!”
