Page 8 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“Help! Help!” I shout to the now deserted street. My heart pounds.

“Sadie,” a gentle voice says. “Wake up. Wake up.”

I follow the voice and open my eyes. I’m in bed in a dark room. My room, based on the glowing nightlight plugged into the wall.

I let my head fall back onto the pillow. It was a dream, just a dream.

“You okay?” a deep, sleepy voice asks.

Strong legs push against the back of my thighs. A hard chest warms my spine, and a large cucumber pokes between my legs.

My muscles tense, fear and disbelief rising inside me. Who is this person?

A big hand lands on my upper arm. “Sadiecakes?”

“Easton?” I glance over my shoulder at the silhouette spooning me. “What are you doing in my bed?”

“You invited me.”

“I most certainly did not.” I sit up and face him. “Why are you here?”

Did he need a place to crash? I don’t remember him calling last night.

He sits up and runs his hand through his grown-out brown hair. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing. I remember nothing,” I squeal through my tightening throat and try to calm down. Easton isn’t dangerous. He’s my friend. My super sexy playboy friend who I would never invite in my bed because I know better.

“Okay. Let me think.” He runs his fingers through his hair again.

My gaze catches on his sculpted bare chest and flexing biceps. His disheveled hair puts him in a mythically hot category that only exists in the movies and in books.

“Stop doing that.” I gesture to his hand in his hair. “Where are your clothes?”

“I don’t have any. I came in a hurry. I didn’t even think to pack.”

“Why would you pack? Why are you even here? I’m so confused.” I touch my temples and focus on slowing my erratic breathing. My muscles ache around my biceps. Ow. I lower my hands and touch my arms. “Ow!”

“Sadie, don’t.” Easton moves my hands to my lap. “They’re bruised. You don’t want to make them worse.”

“Bruised? How…?” Memories trickle into my mind. The alley. The rain and thunder. The megalodon of a man who tried to kidnap me.

“Oh my God.” It’s a whisper. Ice slithers down my spine. I shiver. “It wasn’t a dream.”

“No.” Easton’s hand covers mine, his thumb soothing my skin with gentle strokes. “I put the Advil on your nightstand with a glass of water if you need more.”

I glance at the nightstand. Sure enough, the bottle and water are near my lamp.

“I called you,” I murmur at the memory.

“Yeah.”

“And you came.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry. That was a lot to put on you.” I lower my head and touch my forehead again. My arms ache, a reminder of the bruises and the attack. I get two Advil and swallow them with a gulp of water.

“Explain to me again why you’re in my bed?”

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