"Soil Blue? Never."
A hint of a grin touched his lips, and he nodded. They found Amanda and Easton to say goodbye, though the parting wasn't much more than a gray blur to Jenna. And once she was settled in the truck, she closed her eyes and let the rhythm of the road lull her into a semi-sleep state, where memories of slow-dancing with Reece mixed with fantasies of soft kisses and gentle caresses.
She moaned and squirmed, some part of her mind knowing that those kinds of thoughts would only lead to trouble, and another part of her mind thinking that she didn't care. That this electric sizzle now burning through her was worth it, and that she'd never felt safer than she did right now, with his arms tight around her and his breath soft against her face, and--
Right now?
Her eyes flew open, and she realized she was no longer in the truck. Instead, she was cradled in his arms as he climbed the stairs to her second-floor apartment in Austin's Tarrytown neighborhood. She squirmed, trying to get free, because as it was, she liked the feel of his arms more than she wanted to. "I can walk," she protested. "I'm fine."
"Sure you are," he said. "I'm just trying to get in a full workout today."
She made a face, squirmed some more, and gave up. They'd reached her door anyway, and he shifted his grip, then punched in the unlock code. A moment later, she was on her couch.
And a moment after that, she was bolting for the bathroom.
She didn't make it. Her stomach revolted, she fell to her knees, and because she was trying not to mess up her carpet, she ended up vomiting all over her shirt and jeans.
"Oh, baby, it's okay." Like magic, Reece was beside her, wrapping one of her oversized towels around her to keep the mess at bay, and then leading her into the bathroom. Where, of course, her stomach decided to have another go. This time, at least, she managed to hug the toilet, and Reece even held her hair out of the way.
When it passed, she drooped to the floor and rested her face on the cold hard tile, then sighed with pleasure.
"Oh, no, sweetheart." His gentle voice roused her, and she peeled open her eyes to find him unbuttoning the slate gray shirt he was wearing.
"What are you--"
"Needs to be laundered," he said, tossing it aside, and pulling off the damp T-shirt underneath, too.
Her chest tightened, and a powerful wave of longing crashed over her. It didn't make sense. She'd seen him without his shirt dozens of times. Hundreds, maybe. And the sight of his bare chest had never left her fluttery. Those tight muscles; that vibrant ink. Never before had she longed to stroke his warm skin. To feel his heartbeat under her fingertips.
But she wanted to now, dammit.
She closed her eyes, her stomach roiling. "Oh, God. Sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"Hey, no worries," he said, thankfully misunderstanding. "But we need to get you cleaned up. Come on."
But coming on wasn't something her body wanted to do. Or her head, for that matter. All she wanted was to stay on the floor and clutch the ground until it stopped spinning.
She t
ried to tell him that, but apparently she'd forgotten how to speak. And when she tried to open her eyes, it turns out she'd forgotten how to do that, too.
Her mind knew what was going on--knew that he'd started the shower, knew that he was undressing her--but she was utterly incapable of commenting on that interesting fact.
And time seemed to be jumping around, too, no longer obeying basic rules of physics, because then she was standing, and water was sluicing over her bare skin, and Reece's arm was around her, his skin hot against hers as he used his other hand to gently rinse her off. A wild tremor ran through her, her body betraying her as she craved a more intimate touch. His fingertip stroking her breast, then following the droplets of water down lower and lower until this entire surreal night exploded into pleasure in his arms.
It would be so easy. All she had to do was conjure the words. Tell him. Beg him.
No. Oh, God, what was she thinking?
Thinking? What was she feeling? This was Reece. This was innocent.
This was her body talking when her mind knew better, all because she'd drunk too damn much.
Her mind flipped again, and he was drying her off and helping her into her favorite fuzzy robe. Then she was in bed, curled up next to him, still cocooned in the robe.
"I've got you," he murmured. "Just try to sleep."
She answered, her voice muddy. Thanking him. Telling him she loved him. That she'd miss him. That she was so sorry she'd ruined their last night out.