Page 70 of Total Abandon

Tilly:I’ll give you a clue, rhymes with space talker.

Chloe:I’m too hungover for this, just tell me.

Tilly:Tech guru, filthy rich, dark hair. Massive penis.

Chloe:Chase Walker???

Tilly:Affirmative.

Chloe:Aren’t he and Logan best friends?

Tilly:Logan was a one-time thing. Are you slut shaming me?

Chloe:Nope. Might high-five you though.

CHLOE

The first thing I notice when my mind drifts into consciousness is that my mouth tastes like a garbage can. The second is that I’m sweating. Gasping in a breath, I fling back the covers and find out exactly why. Zeke’s brawny arm is thrown over my waist, half of his body weight pressing down on me so that I’m trapped against the mattress. Cool air hits my skin, but it’s not enough to negate the heat of his large body cocooning mine from behind.

“Zeke,” I rasp, wincing as my throat scratches. He grunts behind me but doesn’t move. “Hey!” I slap his arm. “You’re so fucking hot.”

A dull pounding erupts between my temples, and I groan. He sucks in a deep breath and rolls slowly off me with a low, sleep filled noise of disgruntlement. “Thank you.” His rough morning voice sends a shiver down my spine.

Then I realize what he said. “I meant temperature-wise, asshole,” I scoff, closing my eyes and willing away the clammy heat clinging to my skin.

So much for no bed sharing. I hadn’t protested when he pulled me into it after reverently washing every inch of my body in the shower, too tired and emotionally drained to think. I roll over, grumbling and snapping my eyes shut as the morning light punches right through to the back of my skull. Yeesh, I didn’t drinkthatmuch. “Why is it so hot in here?”

A light shuffling of sheets reaches my ears and I crack one bleary eye open to see him propped on an elbow, his bare, tanned, tattooed chest flexing as he looks at me. “It’s not.” Dark lashes fan over his sharp cheekbones when he narrows his eyes at me. A large, cool hand reaches over to lay across my forehead, and I moan. “You’re burning up, you’re sick.”

My eyes snap open. “I am not sick, I’m hungover.”

He offers me a wry smile that tugs up one corner of his lips. “That too, but you’re definitely running a fever.”

“Chloe Devlin doesn’t get sick.” I sniff and then promptly cough as it scratches my throat. Fuck.

“Yeah right.” He snorts out a laugh, pushing himself up and swinging long legs over the side of the bed so I get a hit of his broad, defined back. “I’ll get you some water and Tylenol.”

My head pops off the pillow and my lips fall open as six feet and five inches of glorious, toned naked male stands and walks across to the closet.

“It’s rude to stare, Chloe,” he throws over his shoulder as he rounds the corner.

“It’s rude to have an ass like that,” I grumble quietly, but not quietly enough apparently, as his silky chuckle reaches me from the other room.

When he reappears, he’s wearing a fresh pair of black sweatpants and a tight black T-shirt. My brows knit together at how good he looks when I probably look like a hungover bridge troll. I’m half tempted to demand he answer a riddle so that he can be granted safe passage. “Why are you scowling at me?”

My foggy brain can’t come up with anything smart to say, so I just settle on “No reason.”

He quirks one brow as he reaches the doorway. “I’m going to get patient zero out of bed and then I’ll be back up with hangover supplies.”

“Thanks.” I sigh, flopping my head back onto the pillow and closing my eyes.

A second of silence passes. “What the hell did you do out here?”

Oh shit. The console table. Cracking my eyes open again, I see him standing just outside the doorway, looking down the hall with an amused look on his face. “Sorry about that, hope you weren’t too attached to it.” I roll my lips sheepishly as he glances back my way.

I’d knocked the table over trying to fumble my way to his room in the dark. It took me three attempts at standing it back up to realize one of the spindly decorative legs had snapped off. Drunk me decided that it was a tomorrow problem and had left it splayed where it was on the floor.

He rolls his eyes and lets out a laugh before disappearing out of sight. Rolling onto my back, I blink up at the ceiling, tentatively testing the aches in my muscles that accompany the now familiar bruised ache between my legs. It's always this way after he’s got his hands on me, and I love it. It’s surprisingly cozy in Zeke’s room. The vibrant splash of red along the back wall offsets the clinical cloy of cool stone accents and grey modern decor. The bed is large enough for me to lie sideways and still not be able to reach the ends, surely custom built. A book lies on the bedside table and curiosity gets the better of me.