Page 8 of Fallen Star

"Drink up. You'll feel infinitely better once you do. Then we'll talk."

I blink. My eyes filling with tears, though I don't know why. Then I drink.

The viscous liquid coats my throat and feels so good going down that I want to sing and dance and laugh, but mostly I want to keep drinking.

When the cup empties the last of its god-like wonder into my mouth I nearly cry like a child deprived of their favorite toy. What the blazes is wrong with me? I'm never this much of an emotional scatterbrain. Must be a side-effect of a near-death experience, though I've had my share of those and never felt like this.

The dreams I had are starting to come back to me. Of seeing my dead parents.

It stirs an ache in my heart that temporarily replaces my desire for more of that drink.

But then my thirst comes back, and the man holding me up—who's face I still haven't seen—laughs in a very throaty, sexy way as he replaces my cup with a fresh, full cup.

I keep drinking. I don't even care that I don't know where I am or who I'm with or what the bloody hell happened.

I'm happy.

And when I reach the end of this cup, I am finally satiated.

It's then that I notice my pain is gone.

Like… completely.

That's… impossible.

And the dimness of the night suddenly seems as clear and crisp as day, though I know it's still the middle of the night.

What's happening to me?

I turn and prop myself up to face the man who's been feeding me the liquid of the gods. The man with the dreamy British accent. And I suck in my breath when I see his face.

He is easily the most unbelievably sexiest man I have ever seen in my life. And that includes every movie star you can imagine. Take the top three most swoon-worthy movie stars you can think of, blend them into something even more jaw-dropping, keep doubling that until you can't anymore, and you're still not getting the picture here.

This man—who's not wearing a shirt by the way—oozes sex and beauty and charm and charisma. Golden hair like a Greek god. Blue eyes that shine in his face like sapphires. A chiseled chin and a six-pack you could grate cheese on. His smile is the death of me, and the bastard knows it.

"Welcome back to the land of the living. I'm Dean. And you must be the esteemed Dr. Alex Stone."

I feel tongue-tied, but somehow manage to find words. "Yes, I'm Alex. Who are you again?"

He holds out his hand to shake mine, and despite the oddity of it all, my professional manners kick in and I shake his hand.

His smile glows even brighter, if you can imagine that. "Dr. Dean Vane at your service. I must say I was expecting someone older. And… more male."

My eyeballs practically pop out of my head. "You'reDr. Vane? The pompous, middle-aged pseudo-scientist who's been pillaging my finds and corrupting our field with unethical practices?"

I pull my hand out of his, despite how luscious his skin feels against mine, and he chuckles. The bastard chuckles. "I see my reputation proceeds me. I assure you my degrees are real. And only a fraction of what you've heard is true. But you… " he gives me a look like he knows every secret fantasy I've ever thought and is ready, right here and now, to fulfill them. "You are a delightful surprise. Rumor has ityouare the middle-aged man creating quite a stir in archaeological communities. I wasn't expecting… this!" His eyes glow with a kind of desire I should be used to in men, but this is different. Very different. And it makes my body stand up and take attention, despite my professional loathing of him.

I struggle to remember my very recent vows of celibacy.

He chuckles again. "Though I didn't expect to find you quite so… well… dead."

All sexy thoughts vanish at his words, as panic wells in me. "Dead?"

"Why, yes. Well, very nearly at any rate. If you'd been fully dead it would have been out of my hands entirely. You had just enough life left that I could bring you back. Though it was a close call. We weren't sure you'd make it even then."

"I… uh… how exactly did you bring me back?"

And then I look at the cups I just guzzled like my life depended on it. And I lick my lips and really taste what it was I've been drinking.

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