She was no longer frightened—she was mortified, because then she’d embarrassed herself by falling all over him on the dance floor, letting him know she wanted him. (Had she really told him he tasted good?) And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d thrown up in his truck on the way home, which had to have been such a wonderful way to cap off the evening.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she pulled her extra pillow over her head. She remembered telling him she could let herself into the house, that he should leave, but he wouldn’t go. He’d helped her inside, cleaned her up as best he could without actually seeing her naked and put her to bed, which explained why she had towels wrapped around her. He’d been too afraid it would freak her out if he took them off so he could dress her once she’d managed to get her wet clothes off—since he’d put her in the shower with them on.
He’d told her he was going to stay, just to be sure she was okay, but she’d argued with him. In her altered state, she’d needed a gun to feel safe, since she didn’t have hers. So he’d finally relinquished his to get her to settle down and sleep.
Was he still in the house? He had to be, didn’t he? Surely, if he were going to leave, he’d get his gun...
She threw off the pillow she’d used to cover her head. If she had company, she was going to shower so that she could face him with a little dignity. Whatever had possessed her to go to The Moosehead last night, she didn’t know. Maybe she’d scored a few points with the locals, but she’d humiliated herself in front of Amarok.
Now she wished she never had to see him again...
“I guess he’ll know better than to go drinking with me,” she muttered.
It wasn’t until she was gingerly making her way over to the bathroom that she saw the note on her bedroom door. “Don’t shoot me,” it said. “I’m one of the good guys.”
She chuckled despite her hangover. She was pretty sure he was one of the good guys.
But once upon a time, Jasper had seemed like a good guy too.
Chapter 7
Amarok was sacked out on her couch with nothing but her small lap quilt for a blanket. His head and bare chest stuck out on one end, his bare feet stuck out on the other, but she could tell he was still wearing his jeans. Where he’d put his shirt, she couldn’t fathom—it wasn’t lying on the floor or the furniture.
But then she remembered. She’d tripped when he was trying to help her into the house, and he’d muttered something about the fact that she already had stitches and swung her up into his arms, which meant he’d gotten vomit on him. He’d taken off his shirt when he’d been trying to clean her up.
Maybe he’d even thrown it away...
Should she go on about her business and let him sleep? Or should she cook him breakfast, apologize for her behavior last night and send him on his way?
She was about to slip out and save herself the humiliation of having to face him. With any luck, they could go the next few months without having to bump into each other. She liked that idea—the idea that maybe he’d forget about the worst of last night, the most embarrassing parts. But he opened those startling blue eyes of his and looked up at her before she could peel her gaze away from the mark she’d left on his neck.
“Hey,” he said. “I see you’re in another suit. That’s a good sign. You must be feeling more like yourself.”
“I have a terrible hangover, but I deserve that and more.”
He covered a yawn. “I think you got the ‘more’ part last night.”
“True. And, sadly, you paid a price too, even though you were mostly an innocent bystander.” She took a deep breath, preparing to deliver the apology she owed him. “I’m really sorry about—”
With a grimace, he lifted a hand. “Please don’t apologize again. Humans aren’t always perfect, Evelyn. I asked you to be real, asked you to come down off your high horse and visit the people of Hilltop where they like to hang out. And you did. I respect that and can understand the rest. You don’t normally drink, didn’t know exactly what was in those fruity concoctions Shorty kept shoving at you, and you wound up overdoing it. It’s not a crime.”
She liked his dark five o’clock shadow, loved how his hair was going every which way. Somehow seeing him fresh out of “bed” made him even sexier, which was rather...unsettling, since such thoughts were so unusual for her. “Okay, I appreciate your generosity. So why don’t I go out and clean your truck, and then we can agree to forget about it?”
“Since I’ve already cleaned my truck, we can forget about it even sooner.” He gave her a grudging smile. “I didn’t think the smell would get better with time.”
She returned that smile simply because it was hard not to smile at a man who looked so good. “I can’t fault your logic, and of course I’ll pay to have it professionally detailed.”
“Like I said, I took care of it. It’s not the first time I’ve encountered someone who’s gotten sick.”