Page 175 of Chasing Headlines
A different kind of heat settled against my waist. Her feminine core teased my lower abdomen as the rest of her, her breasts, her bare skin, pressed closer. My erection urged these useless arms to hold her, envelop her. The desire to crush her against me and never let?—
“Breslin . . .”
Pain split through my skull. I groaned and the very willing female body that I desperately hoped was about to use me for her pleasure . . . paused.
For her pleasure? What?
Blue-green eyes stared into me. Familiar. Known. Her look pulled at the aching muscle in my chest. “Breslin, I want you.”
Warmth fluttered even as my body tightened, ready to bury my length inside her.
“Only you.”
A pounding drum wrecked my brain, and chased the vision ofheraway.No. Why? Wait, is she still here?
I opened my eyes, but nothing was familiar. White sheets. A mess of machines collected in the corner of the room. I checked my arms. They were bare. No IV. Just one of those terrible hospital gowns. The drum in my head beat faster, louder.
Why am I here?I needed to leave.
And go where?Dammit, but my head was a mess of fog and blank space . . .and her. I knew her, know her. But, fuck it all, where was she?
The hospital room was quiet. And empty. My mother’s last days weren’t like that. Shit. Fuckin hospitals.That’s it, I’m out of here. I don’t give a?—
My head swam as I gained my feet. I grabbed the arm of the bed and waited for it to pass. My stomach lurched, I closed my eyes and willed the world to stay still.
“When I find him, I’m giving Henry a piece of my mind. He’s got no God damned sense in that withered head of his.” Dotty's voice sounded far away. “Someone needs to take a baseball mitt and taghimout of?—”
“Ma’am? Ma’am. Is he your son?”
“My what? What the hell are you talking about? My son’s a county judge in—” A breath, and then a syrupy-sweet: “Grandson. He’s my grandson. Are you Cooper’s doctor?”
“Uh. He's fine. All vital signs checked out. Complaining of a headache and vertigo, so we were waiting to release him . . .”
I sat down on the edge of the bed. The ringing, splitting sound overtook my focus. I laid down on my side and closed my eyes.
“. . . run some follow up tests . . . Just keep an eye out.”
“. . . nothing strenuous. Supervision.
I closed my eyes and heardhercall my name again. “Breslin . . .”
There's only you.
I woke up to a full room. Eberhardt and Schorr stood at the door conversing with a guy in a lab coat—no doubt the doctor. Dotty moved closer to the small group, hovering for a moment and nodding.
She struck at Coach with her . . . cane?
“Ow!” Schorr recoiled. “Dammit Dotty, I told you?—!”
“Woops. Don’t always have control of my limbs these days.” She shrugged. “Could be late onset Tourette’s.”
I ran a hand over my forehead. She was a damned handful. Why was she even here?Howwas she here?
“He wake up yet?” Jimenez poked his ugly mug into the room. A hand gripped the edge of the door and threw the panel aside. Fendleman muscled Jimenez out of the way as he entered.
Sender the soccer-man and his friend with the spiked hair stood from the chairs in the corner.
“Ow! Dotty!” Eberhardt whined. “This is bordering on assault.”