“Sleeping Beauty wakes.” Niko’s silky address strokes like a caress as he lounges from the other side of the room, stretched out in the fireside chair. He links his fingers over the chest of his black T-shirt and crosses his long, jean-clad legs at the ankles. Black boots match his T-shirt, and the scruff on his cheeks lends him a slightly piratical air.
Being drugged must make me fanciful.
“Don’t,” I protest with a groan, pushing away how the sight of him makes me feel. Which is inappropriate for a girl who was drugged and almost—
No. I won’t go there.
What happened (or what almost happened) doesn’t alter the fact that I’m attracted to him. I was attracted to him before, and I’m attracted to him still, maybe even a little more so after hearing Tamsin sing his praises. But I’m also embarrassed after Tamsin’s description of the other events of the evening. Like vomiting.
“I imagine I look less like Sleeping Beauty and more like a barely awake troll.”
Niko’s expression is part world weary, part mild amusement. I push up onto my palm, my other clasping the sheet to my chest, the rose-adorned quilt having slipped from the bed again.
“I expect it’s nothing you haven’t already seen,” I mutter as his eyes follow the movement.
“Honestly? I was too worried to pay close attention. If you’d like to remedy that, feel free.”
“Dream on,” I retort.
“It’s probably the least you can do.” His gaze very obviously rakes over me. I try to ignore the thrumming that look ignites.
“A quick flash of my boobs for services rendered?” How does he do that? Simultaneously turn me on and annoy me into acidic responses and heatstroke of the cheeks?
“More like you show me yours after I showed you mine.”
“What?” My gaze drops to his crotch.
“When you vomited on my shirt. And you actually clapped your hands like a drunk seal as I stripped it off.”
“You’re making that up. Tamsin said I was mostly comatose.”
“Not at that point,” he adds, his expression suddenly grave.
“I should thank you.” I can’t seem to lift my gaze from where I twist the edge of the sheet. For the first time, I notice the flesh-colored Band-Aid on the back of my hand. From an IV?
“Whatever for?”
“For last night. For saving me. I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t do that.” He sits forward suddenly, knees splayed and his elbows propped there. “You did nothing wrong. Men like him are scum. They don’t deserve to breathe the same air.” This is no throwaway line, judging by the set of his jaw and the truth in his icy gaze. “They don’t deserve to breathe at all.”
“They should be punished, yes.” Because death seems a bit grim. “I should probably call the police.” I frown down at the bandage and slide my nail under the edge.
“The doctor took blood,” he explains. “But by the time the results came back, you were already out of the woods. He said the drugs would be out of your system within hours.”
“What did he give me? Was it in my champagne?”
He inclines his head in agreement but doesn’t answer anything else.
“Do you know? Tell me, please.”
“It was a cocktail of chemicals, according to the doctor, but not enough to do any real damage. Not the amount you ingested, according to the blood work.”
“Real damage,” I whisper, struck by his word usage. “The real damage wasn’t intended to be the drugs, though, was it?” A sudden spike of panic crashes through me. What could’ve been. What might’ve been.
“No, you’re right, by the bastard’s own admission.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“Yes,” he answers, though not before a tiny hesitation.
“I can’t believe he’d do that to me.” My thoughts scatter, that earlier spike of panic a sudden wave. “If you hadn’t…” I try to swallow, suddenly not able. “If I…” Oh God. Oh God. “I was so stupid.”
I barely register Niko moving before his thigh is flush with mine, his arm bolstering me from behind. “Take a couple of sips,” he says, pressing my glass of water into my hands. It tastes like cool bliss as I throw it back. “Slowly,” he coaxes, and I find that I am.
“Thank you,” I whisper, passing it back. Niko twists from the waist, flooding my senses with the scent of his cologne. It’s crisp and fresh, and makes me wonder if I stink myself. I give my shoulder a surreptitious sniff, and well, I don’t pass out.
The glass clinks against the wooden nightstand, and he turns back to me. “You must try not to think like that.”
“But I should’ve known.” My eyes begin to fill with tears. “I’ve always felt something was not quite right about him. I should’ve paid more attention.” I purse my lips in punishment as the bottom one begins to quiver.
“This is not your fault.” His earnest eyes hold mine. “Monsters rarely show their true selves.” I shiver at the chilling tone of his words. “I promise you,” he adds as his expression softens, “nothing happened. Nothing would’ve happened to you last night. Not while I was here.” I open my mouth to dispute this—because how can he know—when his thumb brushes across my cheekbone. “I wasn’t about to let you wander off. Not when you had to try so hard not to kiss me.”