Darkest Before Dawn

CHAPTER 16

HONOR fought through heavy veils of dense fog surrounding her. Her reflexes were dull and her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She was semiawake and yet couldn’t summon the strength to open her eyelids.

A dull throb in her head made its presence known. Her mouth felt like cotton and even with her eyes closed, they felt dry and scratchy, like sandpaper covered them instead of her eyelids.

As she continued her slow swim to lucidity, she became aware that she was . . . comfortable. Softness surrounded her, conforming to her body so that every part of her was cushioned. Even the ache in her head abated somewhat as she registered the plushness cushioning her head.

She let out a soft sigh. This had to be another really good dream. Not as good as the one where Hancock had kissed her, but still good.

Her lips turned down into a frown as she processed that last information her sluggish brain fed her. Nothing that realistic could possibly be a dream. If she ignored the dryness of her mouth, she could still taste him. The lingering effects of that scorching hot, sexy-as-sin kiss. And it was delicious. She nearly moaned as the memory became clearer and she recalled just how thoroughly he’d kissed her.

What was it he’d asked her? And is me kissing you what you want to happen in your dream?

That was no dream. He’d been speaking to her as though she were dreaming, ensuring that she really wanted him to kiss her. Doubt nagged at her. Why had he done it then? Had he wanted to kiss her or was he merely giving her what she asked for?

Hancock didn’t strike her as a man who’d ever do anything he didn’t want. And certainly no one was going to force him to do anything.

And as more of that decadent dream—reality—floated back to her, she realized that his kiss had not been the kiss of an unwilling man. Nor had it been a simple kiss, one designed to satisfy her need. He’d devoured her mouth and then things had gone fuzzy again.

She frowned again and reached sluggishly down to rub her hand over her hip. He’d injected her with something. A sedative. Just before kissing her. So obviously he didn’t want her conscious very long after he kissed her.

And maybe he hadn’t wanted her to remember . . .

That was the more likely scenario. And it was just as well that was what he wanted because now she could pretend ignorance of the entire episode so she wouldn’t be mortified every time he looked at her or she looked at him. She’d simply act as though she had no memory of the event.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t hold that memory dear to her, savor it, lock it away to be pulled out at will so she could relive that moment over and over.

For now, putting away the pleasure of that one stolen moment, she forced herself to the task at hand. She had to open her damn eyes and figure out where she was. And if she was safe.

It took far more effort than she would have liked to pry her eyes open. Her entire face was set into a grimace as she worked to lift what felt like lead eyelids. A sliver of low light registered and she took heart in the fact that she was making progress. After several more steadying breaths, and ensuring that she wasn’t going to be sick, she forced them open all the way.

It was disorienting at first. Too much to take in all at once. Nothing about her surroundings was familiar. The first thing she registered was that she was in a very comfortable bed. Not a cot, a bedroll or a makeshift place to sleep. It was an honest-to-goodness real bed with a mattress and linens to die for. Five-star-hotel quality, not that she had much experience with five-star accommodations. But this was heaven.

As she shrugged the last vestiges of fuzz from her mind, she swiftly examined her surroundings, looking for any hint that she was in danger.

The walls were painted in soft lavender, several floral paintings strategically placed to give the room an open and airy feel. The furnishings were expensive, custom-looking and hand carved. The wood was a deep brown, the contrast between the darker pieces and the more feminine-looking walls pleasing to her eye.

She felt . . . safe. No fear pricked her nape or caused the hairs on her arms to rise. But where was she?

She shifted in the plush bed, her intention to sit up, to get out of the bed and . . . do what?

The question was settled for her when her body shrieked its protest to her movement. She could feel the blood drain from her cheeks and pain lanced through her side, leaving her breathless. Her lungs were frozen, unable to suck air in or expel it back out. Panicked, she didn’t know whether to lower herself back to the bed or continue her ascent. Either one was going to hurt like hell.

A noise at the door startled her. Her body jerked involuntarily, which caused another blast of pain scorching her side.

Hancock filled the doorway. He took one look at her and issued a vicious curse under his breath even as he strode quickly to the bed. He gathered her in his arms, his hold tight but not painful. He carefully eased her back down into the mattress, but even with the obvious care he took in moving her, pain washed through her, robbing her of breath just when she’d thought she’d gotten it back.

Tears swam in her vision, causing Hancock’s grim, worried face to swim above her.

“Damn it, Honor. You shouldn’t have tried to get up.”

She said nothing for a moment, her nostrils distending as she tried desperately to suck in oxygen and breathe through the remnants of the crippling pain.

“Where am I?” she asked weakly. “Are we safe?”

His expression became even more grim, a distant flicker in his eyes just before he looked away, neatly avoiding her gaze. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">