Page 43 of The Billionaire's Obsession: Florida

“Wanted to help you,” she rasped, her throat dry.

“Crazy woman.” Sam shook his head, but his voice was light and sweet. Then, in a harsh, booming voice he ordered, “Get an ambulance. Now. She’s hurt.”

Darkness started to encroach on her vision and she struggled, determined not to lose consciousness. “Tell Simon…” Her voice trailed off, her mouth so dry that her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered. She tried to focus on Sam, but he became just a large, unfocused blur.

She sighed as Sam clasped her hand and grumbled. “You can tell him yourself. He’s on his way and pissed as hell.”

Simon’s coming?

Her heart skipped a beat and she gave Sam’s hand a feeble squeeze as a humming noise started in her head. It grew louder, so loud that she could barely make out the sound of approaching sirens that were screaming through the night.

“Kara. Are you still with me?” Sam’s voice sounded panicked and desperate. And distant.

A blanket of darkness completely consumed her as the low-pitched droning sound in her head reached the very top of its crescendo.

“Simon.” She whispered his name, not knowing if it was even audible, as she slid into complete darkness and blessed silence.

Mine Forever

Book Three

The Billionaire’s Obsession ~ Simon

Kara opened her eyes slowly, blinking several times to clear her blurred vision, and feeling like her head was in a vise. Temporarily disoriented, she lifted her hand to her head, poking at it experimentally, only to feel her forehead wrapped with gauze.What the hell?

Her memory returned slowly, trickling back in bits and pieces. Sam and his apology. The attack. Sam and two other unknown men saving her life.

She remembered waking briefly several times in the Emergency Room, Simon right next to her, holding her hand, murmuring encouraging words while she...oh God...had she really thrown up all over him?

Right after the attack, everything had been so intense: the dizziness, the nausea, the blurred vision, the desire to escape back into the darkness and blissful relief of sleep.

Her surroundings were dim, the only light illuminating what appeared to be a hospital room with a small square and narrow overhead light near the door.

Her eyes scanned the room. It was set up for double occupancy, but the bed beside her was empty and completely undisturbed.

Compared to the way she had felt in the Emergency Room, the headache she was experiencing seemed like a major improvement. Her stomach was slightly queasy and she had obviously suffered an open wound to her forehead, but she was still alive. She sucked in a deep, tremulous breath, releasing it slowly as a wave of adrenaline washed over her body; clearly she was experiencing some delayed anxiety from the experience that had happened...uh...when?

Crap...I really need to get my head together!

Squinting at the clock, she could see that it was four a.m. Nine hours had passed since the terrifying experience that had left her alone in a hospital room, thanking the Almighty that she was still among the living.

She flinched as she moved her left arm, stretching the tubing of the I.V. inserted in the back of her hand, causing stress at the insertion site.Damn, that hurt.Replacing the limb to its former position, she attempted to cautiously stretch her other arm, finding it trapped, encapsulated inside a large, strong, warm prison.

“Simon,” she whispered softly, suddenly realizing that she wasn’t alone, her eyes landing on the place where their skin touched, finding his fingers entwined with hers, his head resting next to their joined hands, his eyes closed.

Her heart contracted as her gaze swept over him, taking in every feature of his beloved, handsome face. She drank in the sight of him, feeling as if it had been forever since she had seen that handsome face. Even in sleep, he looked tense and fierce, the lock of wayward hair that slithered over his forehead the only thing that softened his appearance in slumber.

Slowly disentangling their entwined fingers, she stroked his hair back, enjoying the texture of the thick, disheveled strands between her fingers.

Had he been here all night? Had he ever left the hospital?

He was dressed in a pair of light blue hospital scrubs, a sure sign that her memory of tossing her cookies down the front of what was probably a very expensive sweater was probably accurate.

I love you.

The recollection that she had spoken those words between retching violently and feeling like she was about to die made her hand stop pawing his hair and her body tense with trepidation.

Oh God, did I really say those words to him?

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