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She almost blurted out the word she was feeling, but it was too scary to put that between them this early. Was it even real? Her heart said so.
She knew it wasn’t hero worship. Chris was so much more than her first vision of him in the dark desert night.
But he needed an answer. She didn’t want to say safety because she didn’t want him to think that was the only thing she wanted him for. So she cleared her throat and said, “You.” As if that explained everything. Her throat went dry, so she took a sip of water and added, “And I don’t plan to give you back.”
His eyes went smoldery. “So I’m yours now?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you’re mine?”
“If you want me.”
He smiled slowly. “Babe, I will never stop wanting you.”
Chris wondered what she’d really intended to say, but he wasn’t going to fuss about it given that they’d ended up in the same place.
She made him feel impossible things. Hell, he wanted her again, and he’d already come twice tonight. But he wanted so much more than sex. He wanted the same thing she’d declared about him. He wanted her. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Next year.
He picked up his wineglass and drained it.
Too late, he realized he should have grabbed the water. He’d probably had three glasses, given how low the bottle was. Diana had barely had any.
Not that it mattered. They were safe. He even felt a flush from the alcohol, which was rare for him given his build. Maybe it wasn’t the wine so much as the fact that for the second time in his life, he was falling in love.
And she’d just hinted that the same mysterious symptoms were afflicting her.
She was his for the having.
He wanted to do the very thing he’d imagined when they first arrived at the house—toss her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs to the bedroom.
He rose to his feet, swaying a little at the sudden motion.
His vision swam.
He knew his body. He was a finely honed weapon. This wasn’t love… Or alcohol. “Shit.”
He looked at the bottle of wine.
His vision danced.
Two and a half…three glasses tops.
He reached for Diana’s glass.
“Chris? What’s wrong?”
“The wine.”
“You want mine?”
There was a kaleidoscope of Dianas before him. Pretty. Concerned. She held out the glass.
He slapped it from her hand. Red liquid splashed across her chest, like she’d been shot.
The image seared into his brain. He tried to speak. Finally managed one word. “Drugged.”
His legs gave out, and the world went black.
