Beckett’s voice penetrated my ears. I remembered his smell—clean and woodsy like a forest trail in the summer. I turned my face into his sweater and laced my fingers around his neck. My mouth didn’t seem to want to move, which was fine by me because my brain was too tired to formulate a sentence.
“Hang on, I’m taking you back to bed.”
Any other time, that phrase coming from Beckett’s mouth would have sent a thrill through my body. But right now, all I wanted to do was to sleep.
Beckett lowered me onto the bed. “Shh.” He reached up and smoothed my hair from my face. “Sleep.”
I rolled onto my side and let my eyes drift shut. When I woke the next time, Beckett was sitting in the chair by the fireplace, his legs extended out in front of him, his eyes closed. He’d removed his glasses and had them clutched in one hand, a book in the other.
He woke slowly, stretching his legs and then squinting across the room at me. He replaced his glasses and saw that I was awake.
He pushed up from the chair and came to stand next to the bed. “How do you feel?”
“Like someone hit me over the head withWar and Peacea few times.”
Beckett made a face that said he didn’t think I was funny. “I’m getting the doctor back over here.”
“What?” Confusion and shame settled over me. I didn’t remember a doctor.
“She came to look at you last night, remember?”
I shook my head, causing a riot of pain between my ears. “I hate doctors,” I groaned.
“Too bad.” Beckett whipped his phone out of his pocket.
“Please don’t call the doctor,” I begged. “I’m fine now.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I glanced down at my T-shirt and pink sweatpants, then raised my eyes to Beckett, cheeks heating. “Who changed my clothes?”
“Your friend,” he said. “The one who works at the winery.”
“Sloane?”
He nodded, and my shoulders relaxed. The thought of Beckett having anything to do with taking off my clothes made my skin heat. I cleared my throat, and it was like gargling nails. “Can I have some water?”
Beckett strode from the room, and I took a moment to collect my thoughts. I smoothed my hair and glanced around for my purse. Beckett’s room was twice the size of my apartment. My purse was on a dresser on the other side of the room, but it may as well have been in South Carolina. I didn’t have the energy to swing my legs to the ground, much less trek across the room to get my purse.
I sat up and scooted to the edge of the mattress. My head spun, and I rested it in my hands. Aslan nudged my thigh, whimpering.
“What are you doing?” Beckett’s sharp voice cut the air.
I lifted my head to see Beckett scowling at me from the doorway, looking dreamier than Heathcliff on a foggy moor.
“My purse,” I croaked.
Beckett grabbed my purse from the dresser and brought it to the bed. He fluffed the pillows against the headboard. Once I was in an upright position against them, he handed me the water. I sipped, easing the fire in my throat. Beckett’s eyes roamed over my face, and I remembered that I looked like a cat dragged from hell. I raised a hand to my wild halo of hair and Beckett’s frown twitched.
“Thank you.” I reached for my purse and found my phone. I flipped it open only to see a black screen. It was dead. “Do you have a charger?”
Beckett eyed my phone. “Sorry, nothing from the previous millennium.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he offered it to me. “You can use mine.”
With a sinking feeling, I realized I didn’t know anyone’s number. Even if I did, I wouldn’t know who to call. I didn’t want to worry Gabi. Sloane and Pressly knew I was safe with Beckett.
“Never mind.” I shook my head. The slight movement caused pain to ricochet through me. I sank further into the mattress.
“Are you cold?” Beckett tucked a blanket around me. “I could start a fire.”
