Page 77 of Protecting You

CHAPTERTWENTY

Callan focused on his surroundings.

A sheet and blanket over him.

A soft pillow beneath his head.

Far away, a door slammed. Voices carried, getting louder at first, then fading.

Nearby, it was quiet. A heater hummed, which explained his desire to throw off the covers.

He didn’t, though. Not yet.

Not until he remembered where he was.

Though he didn’t open his eyes, light shined against his lids. Sunshine? Lamplight?

Another sound, fainter. Breathing. And tapping on a keyboard.

He inhaled through his nose, picking up the subtle scents of jasmine and vanilla.

Which brought it all back.

The escape. The long drive to Portland. The hotel that had no adjoining rooms and no suites.

His irrational fear of being separated from Alyssa.

Her telling the clerk that they both needed two keys.

She’d taken one of his, he’d taken one of hers. He’d walked her to her door, and when she was inside, stumbled into his own room across the hall, head pounding, stomach roiling.

Now, though he hadn’t moved, Alyssa said, “You’re awake.”

His breathing must have changed. He didn’t think he snored, but then, he didn’t generally sleep in the presence of others, so how would he know?

He opened his eyes.

The curtains were closed, but sunlight glowed around the edges. In front of the windows, Alyssa sat at her laptop at a little square table. She wore jeans, a pale pink blouse, and a navy-blue cardigan. Her hair fell in natural waves over her shoulders. Despite everything they’d gone through the night before, she looked gorgeous.

He imagined he looked—and smelled—far worse.

She was squinting at him.

“There’s this thing we humans enjoy,” he said. “Some of us even think we’re entitled to it.” His voice was scratchy, but he pressed on. “It’s called privacy.”

He expected a smile, but her brows lowered. “I thought you might be dead.”

“Just sleeping, another thing we humans enjoy.”

She made a show of checking her phone screen. “Most humans don’t sleep for ten straight hours.”

He sat up too fast, the movement making him lightheaded, which he did his best to conceal as he reached for his phone.

He found it plugged into the charger, though he hadn’t done that the night before. He’d managed little besides peeling out of his clothes and brushing his teeth. He’d been pretty proud of himself for thinking to grab their toothbrushes and toothpaste from the bathroom the night before and shoving the items into his bag.

He was still melting—had to be seventy-five degrees in the room—but he couldn’t exactly throw off the covers, considering he wore nothing but boxers. “Why are you here?”

“You had a concussion. When you didn’t answer my knock, I got worried. My uncle told me to check on you, so?—”

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