Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“She will be. She’s still presenting as very drunk. And she didn’t even get much of that shit in her. I can’t even imagine if she’d drunk the whole thing, Chase.”
“It’s fucking scary,” he replies. “Anyway, I don’t need a photo because I have security footage from the bar that shows exactly what happened. She’s clearly shaking her head, and he attacks her anyway. I can’t prove in that video that she’d been drugged, but she’s clearly inebriated. I wanted to check in on her and let you know that we have him. Once he can be released from the hospital, he’ll be arrested for sexual assault.”
“Good.”
When my call with Chase is done, I turn to look at Billie, who’s sleeping peacefully. And just when I start to join her, my phone rings.
Again.
“Bloody hell,” I grumble as I accept the call. “Gallagher.”
“How is she?” Blake asks.
“She’s sleeping.” I fill him in on how she was a few minutes ago.
“That’s normal,” he says. “She’ll probably sleep most of today. She’ll have the hangover of her life when she’s finally lucid again. I’ll come over later when she’s more with it and get an IV of fluids in her. It’s good that she used the bathroom and sipped some water. Just keep doing what you’re doing. If she’s not awake and more with it by midafternoon, call me.”
“Aye, I will.”
With a sigh, I walk over to the side of the bed and stare down at her. A lock of her dark hair has fallen across her face, so I reach down and smooth it away, then let my fingers glide down her cheek.
The fact that anyone would want to hurt her makes me feral.
I should work. I have calls to make, emails to send, and work to look over. I should be in my office today, following up with contractors and the architect. I’m sure my assistant is frantic, wondering where I am despite it being a Sunday.
But nothing is more important than the woman in my bed.
So without overthinking it, I climb under the covers and pull her to me. Immediately, Billie curls around me, nuzzles her nose in my chest, and sighs, almost as if in relief.
“Just sleep, bumble bee.”
Chapter Five
BILLIE
Someone shoved a huge wad of cotton in my mouth. My head feels like it’s split open and my brains are spilling out. Every joint in my body aches.
I’m pretty sure I’m in Connor’s bed. I remember waking up at some point and seeing him. I felt him. I smelled him. Did I ask? I think so. Honestly, I don’t remember much, and trying to think about it only makes my head hurt more.
I moan and roll onto my back, but I don’t open my eyes because that’s going to hurt.
“Are you awake?” It’s whispered above me, but it still sounds like he’s screaming.
“Shh,” I reply. “Too loud.”
He chuckles softly. I wish he was lying down so I could curl around him, but he’s not. I can tell he’s sitting up, his back against the headboard. I do have vague memories of his arms around me. Cuddling me against him.
It felt too fucking good, and it just puts me in a bad mood.
Or helps the bad mood that I already have.
“I need you to drink this.”
I sit up enough to sip some cool water, then fall back to the pillow. Why is his bed more comfortable than my own bed?
Wait. I’m in Connor’s bed.
A whole slew of questions bombard my bruised brain.
What does his house look like?
Did we have sex, and I forgot?
Did he pick me up at the bar?
“Did we—” It’s a whispered question. He brushes a piece of hair off my face.
“No.” That’s not whispered, and it echoes through my skull, making me cringe. “What do you remember, bumble?”
“Quiet,” I reply and try to blink my eyes open. There’s light from outside, but it’s muted by pretty curtains. Beige, I think. The bed is the size of Rhode Island, the linens are soft and luxurious, and I want to burrow down in them.
So I don’t. I fling the covers off, and let the cool air drift over me, waking me up more.
“I don’t remember much.” My voice sounds like sandpaper. “The girls. Drinks. Alex going home with my cousin and his boyfriend.”
Connor’s fingers drift through my hair, and I close my eyes. That actually feels good.
So I should tell him to stop.
But I don’t want to. Why do I love it so much when he touches me?
“How did I get here?”
“I went to the bar to have a drink,” he says. God, he can just play with my hair like that for the rest of my life, and it won’t be long enough. “Saw you there. Some arsehole spiked your drink.”
I frown, but I don’t open my eyes again. When he removes his hand from my hair, I want to pull him back, already feeling the loss of his touch.