She drifted into a half-conscious state. The feeling of being swept down a river roused her sometime later. But she wasn’t on a river; she was in Darius’ arms, and he was carrying her to bed.
Second time he’s done this, she thought sluggishly. Next time I want to be conscious.
Or maybe she’d said it out loud, because a low chuckle vibrated through her from his broad chest.
“Count on it,” he murmured as he nestled her into softness. “I’ll wake you up in the morning in plenty of time.”
He stepped to the window to draw the blinds against the city lights. So light here, all the time. In Lost Harbor, it really got dark at night. No streetlights, just moonlight and starlight. Maybe that was why she didn’t get migraines there.
Time passed, and slowly the iron band of pain around her skull eased. She snuggled into the covers and slept, and it really felt as if she could still feel Darius’ gentle hands on her head, smoothing out every bit of tension and stress. Even though he was gone, it felt as if he was with her, his heated skin against hers, his arms holding her tight against everything out there that wanted to hurt her.
“Kate?” His voice came softly through a white veil of dreams. “Sweetheart? Can you open your eyes?”
At first she wasn’t sure if she could. But she wanted to see if it was really Darius calling her “sweetheart,” or just one of the nighttime fantasies she’d been having lately. She dragged her heavy eyes open, realizing as she did so that it didn’t hurt.
“You called me sweetheart.” Her voice didn’t make her wince the way it usually did when she spoke during a migraine episode.
“I knew that would get your attention.” Sitting on the edge of her bed, he stroked a damp strand of hair away from her face. “How’s your head?”
She blinked hard—another test. A faint trace of pain remained, like a shadow of a memory of pain. “Seems okay.”
Cautiously, she pushed herself into a sitting position. She still wore the loose clothing she’d changed into last night when she’d felt the first threat of a migraine. “What time is it?”
“Still early. It’s only six-thirty. I thought you might want some time to ease into the day.”
She nodded carefully. “Good thinking. Thanks, Darius. I think I might be fine.” Gingerly, she moved her head from side to side. “You’ve got the touch. I wish I’d known you when I was cramming for the bar exam. It might not have taken me two tries.”
“You get migraines a lot?”
“It happens.” He offered her a hand, and for once she accepted without protest, though she wasn’t yet ready to try standing up. She had a feeling she’d never reject help from Darius again. He’d proven himself a gem with those expert hands of his. “I need to be at the Cotton and Bryant offices by nine.”
“Yup. I already made coffee, and I got you a room service menu. If you want to shower, I’ll order breakfast.”
Tears came to her eyes. “You’re being so nice to me,” she moaned, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand.
He looked alarmed. “Want me to stop? Does it make it worse?”
“No, it’s just…” More tears came and she let them flow, because recovering from a migraine was a delicate process and couldn’t be interfered with. “I get emotional after a migraine. The relief from the pain makes me want to kiss someone’s feet.”
If anything, he looked even more alarmed. “I wouldn’t recommend that. My feet are in steel-toed boots much of the time. They’re ugly as hell.”
She couldn’t help laughing, even though a laugh had a big potential for bringing more pain. But no pangs of electric tension shot through her skull. Amazingly, she really had made it through this episode in almost record time.
“The thing is, when I get a migraine I’m like a wounded bear. I just want to crawl into my den and hide there until it’s safe to come out. I don’t want any people in my space, I don’t want voices or food or anything except maybe a sip of water. Even when I was a kid I just wanted to be left alone.”
“Sorry, Kate. I didn’t know any of that. I would have—”
She stopped him by planting a spontaneous and entirely shocking kiss on the lips. At least she was shocked; he didn’t miss a beat. He responded with gentle pressure of his own, a promise of more, much more, maybe later, maybe tomorrow, when they had more time. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but it wasn’t just a peck either. There was full, tingling, breathtaking contact between her lips and his. His mouth was just as firm and sexy to touch as she’d dreamed.
It came to a natural, easy end and they drew apart. Kate felt as if they’d calmly stepped over some invisible boundary and were safely on the other side.
She touched her lips briefly. “What I mean to say is, don’t apologize for that amazing neck rub last night. I don’t know why you’re not a masseur with these hands.”
She lifted his hand off the bedcovers and spread it open, palm up. She traced the calluses that marched across the pads below his fingers. The lines on his palm were strongly etched, and some of them seemed to be nicks and scars.
It was a hand that had been through some shit. And a hand she could trust.
It was also a hand that she wanted to feel all over her body.
“And the way you carried me to bed and tucked me in. Closed the blinds. That was so sweet of you.”
His eyes darkened as she continued to stroke his hand. “Do you remember what you said? You said you want to be conscious the next time I put you into a bed.” The thick growl of his voice made her nipples peak.
He noticed, too. It was probably hard to miss, since she was wearing a thin tank top with nothing underneath. Her breath came fast as his gaze dropped to her chest. He lifted his other hand, the one she wasn’t petting. It came toward her and, for a moment, she knew he was going to touch her breasts, and she wanted that more than anything in the goddamn world.
But then he shifted and settled his hand on the curve of her neck. He pulled her toward him so he rested his forehead against hers.
“You’re a sorceress, woman. But you need to get yourself ready for this deposition and I’m not going to be responsible if you miss it.”
“But it’s hours away,” she pointed out.
“Not enough hours for all the things I want to do with you.” Firmly, he ripped the covers off her and gripped her by the elbow. “Come on. Get yourself into that shower and tell me what you want for breakfast.”
Sexual frustration fought with her common sense. Of course he was right. Coming out of a migraine, it would be insane to do anything that would raise her heart rate. She needed to be careful.
It was a good thing one of them was thinking straight.
She carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Hardly any wavering at all. She rolled her neck and found barely a hint of pain. Truly, Darius had worked a miracle.
And now she was ravenous. “I don’t need a menu. I know what I want. I’ll have my traditional pretrial breakfast, please. French toast and hash browns and bacon. Coffee with lots of cream. And if they have any orange juice throw that in too.”
With a grin, he unfolded his big body from the bed. “Sounds like you’re feeling better. Good to see.”