My throat tightened and I wanted to ask him more, but something was suddenly pulling me toward Reyes’s room, like the gravity in that one spot had just increased exponentially. I finally took a step, and the officer tipped his invisible hat again and strolled away toward the coffee machine.
When I crossed the threshold, I scanned the area, just in case he was in the room incorporeally. I was a little disappointed when he wasn’t. He did incorporeal well.
Then I glanced at the bed. He lay there, Reyes Farrow, solid and real, his dark hair and skin a bronze shadow against the white sheets. Gravity took hold again; only this time, it was centered on him as I stepped closer, walked to the edge of the bed, and saw utter perfection for the second time in my life.
A breathing tube had been inserted into his trachea, and he had a bandage wrapped around his head. His mussed hair, thick and dark, swept over the bandage and brushed his brow. Three days’ worth of stubble framed his strong jaw, and his lashes, long and thick, cast shadows across his cheeks. And then my gaze landed on his mouth, sensual and sculpted and impossible to forget.
The ventilation machine made the only sound in the room. No beeps of a heart monitor, though one had been hooked up, its lines and numbers in a constant state of flux. I stepped closer, brushed a hip against his arm that lay beside him. The sleeves of the pale blue hospital gown were short and afforded a generous view of sinewy muscles, hard and lean even in slumber. He had a tattoo that flowed along his tanned biceps, lending to its beauty and fluidity. A tribal work of art with graceful lines and sensual curves, lines and curves that had meaning. I’d seen them before. They were ancient, as old as time. And important. But why?
My heart and mind were having difficulty grasping the fact that it was truly Reyes Farrow in the bed, lying there, vulnerable and powerful at once. My knees had liquefied, and I wondered how long I’d be able to stand in his presence without falling. After all this time, he seemed even more surreal than in my dreams. More beautiful than in my fantasies.
His wide chest rose and fell to the rhythm of the machine. I ran my fingertips along a shoulder that scalded. A quick glance at the chart hanging from the end of his bed confirmed his temp to be a perfect 98.6, yet his heat was as real as if I were standing in front of a furnace.
Even at rest he looked wild and untamed, something impossible to domesticate, to restrain for very long. Enduring the heat of his touch, I placed a hand in his and leaned over him.
“Reyes Farrow,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion, “please wake up.” I didn’t care what the state said; Reyes was no more dead than I was. How could they even consider taking him off life support? “They are going to turn this machine off if you don’t. Do you understand? Can you hear me? We have three days.”
I glanced around the room, hoping he’d show up in another form. I still didn’t know exactly what he was, but he was something more than human. I knew that now beyond a shadow of a doubt. I had to find his sister. I had to put a stop to this.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered. But before I could leave, I lowered my head and put my mouth on his. The kiss scalded my lips, but I stayed for several miraculous heartbeats, relishing the feel of his mouth beneath mine.
I tried to rise, to end the kiss, but images started coming at me in a rush. I began to remember our nights over the past month. His hands gripping my hips, my legs wrapped around him as if holding on for dear life as he pushed inside, sending waves of unimaginable pleasure crashing into me. I remembered the kiss in Cookie’s office, how he guided my hand, how he held me when my knees gave beneath my weight. Then I remembered that night so long ago. When his father hit him, when he lost consciousness for that split second. I remembered the look in his eyes when he snapped back. The anger. Directed not at his father but at me! He had looked at me. For a split second, he saw me and anger washed over him.
Then I remembered a cup at my mouth, a warm towel at my head, an arm holding me in place as I swam back to reality, wondering where my bones had run off to.
“Are you okay? Ms. Davidson?”
“Here,” a female said, “drink this, sweetheart. You had quite a fall.”
I sipped on cold water and opened my eyes to see the corrections officer and the RN standing over me. The officer held a wet towel at my head while the nurse tried to coax me into drinking more water. They’d dragged me to a chair outside the room and were trying to keep me in it despite my limp body’s insistence on eating floor tile.
“Oops,” the nurse said. “Got her?”
“I had her the first time. She just keeps slipping out of my grip. She’s like really heavy spaghetti.”
“What?” I shrieked, jerking to my senses. “How heavy? What happened?”
Glancing up into the grinning eyes of the officer, I took another sip as he explained.
“You either fainted or you wanted a much closer look at the cracks in the tile. Either way, you hit hard.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been trying to make out with him,” he suggested.
How did he know that? “I was kissing him good-bye.”
He snorted and exchanged glances with the nurse. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”
Probably not. But what happened? Could Reyes Farrow take control over me even from a freaking coma? I was doomed.
“Oh my gosh!” I said, jumping out of the chair. After a woozy moment that reminded me way too much of the night I celebrated my high school graduation—in a pool of my own vomit—I stumbled back into Reyes’s room, marveled at his beauty a few seconds more, gave him a quick kiss good-bye—on the cheek—then hurried out of the hospital with a thank-you and a wave to the officer and the nurse. I had to find Reyes’s sister, and time was running out.