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She stood up and looked toward the bathroom.
You can do this, Esmeralda. You can make the epic journey to the bathroom.
She looked down, concentrating hard on her feet.
“This is easy. Babies can do it. Well, toddlers. One foot in front of the other.” It felt as though the floor was doing its best to avoid her footsteps. “Stay still!”
Esme lurched forward, doing everything she could to stop herself from crashing down into a heap. But as she did, she hit something, hard. A wall of muscle and bone. There was a thump and the sound of glass smashing, and she started to fall forward, but a massive hand caught hold of her arm and pulled her upward, saving her from a world of pain and fragments of jagged glass beneath.
Wait. Why was she so wet?
Not an accident. Not here. Not now.
“Babygirl? Are you alright?”
In a drunken daze, she slowly looked up. Erk. Rainer.
His black vest was soaking wet, slickly sticking to the hard muscle beneath. His arms, stitched with thick, black, biomechanical tattoos, were flexed as he held Esme upright. There was a look of intense concern on his always serious face. A jaw that looked as though it had been hewn from wood, warm brown eyes that burned with fierce, protective energy. Jet black hair, glossy and short-cropped, and a scar over his lip. Ah, his lips. Big and soft-looking, perfect to kiss, to bite, to feel running up and down h—
“Babygirl?”
“That’s me.”
Esme opened her eyes wide and realized she had spilled two drinks on the floor — well, mostly down the two ofthem.
“I’m sorry!”
“You okay?”
“Peachy. Just wonderfully peachy.” The world was spinning and Rainer’s perfect face seemed to be filling up her vision.
“You don’t seem it.”
“Oh, I’m fi—”
And that was the moment that Esmeralda Adams vomited all over the man who’d just been nominated to be the president of an illicit biker club.
CHAPTER TWO
Whenyou’rehungover,eventhe most beautiful morning can make you feel as though you’re spiraling down into a fiery pit.
“Water. Must… drink… water.” Esme’s voice sounded like two sheets of paper scraping against each other. She didn’t even know where she was or who she was talking to, but she knew that she needed water.
She was sandwiched between tons of blankets. No — sandwiched isn’t the right word. She felt burritoed by the blankets, wrapped up safe and warm. If it hadn’t been for her unbearable thirst, she’d stay in here all day.
Jesus. What hadhappenedlast night? She could remember the start of the evening. That part was easy. She’d been with her friends at the Den, toasting Marcus and using booze to forget about the problems in her life.
Then, she’d used a little too much booze, and she had a feeling that she’d ended up giving herself more problems than she’d had at the start. Ugh.
Esme blinked her eyes open. The sun’s golden light felt more like the scorching blast from the inside of a volcano against her retina.
“Yowch!” she cried, screwing her eyes shut again. In that moment, at least, she’d got a snapshot of her surroundings. She was in her bed, nice and safe.
“What’s up?” The gruff, deep voice shocked her, and she burrowed back into her burrito blanket.
“Who’s there?”
“Just your friendly neighborhood puke target.”
