Hanover House: Kickoff to the Evelyn Talbot Chronicles

Chapter 7

Amarok was sacked out on her couch with nothing but her small lap quilt for a blanket. His head and bare chest stuck out on one end, his bare feet stuck out on the other, but she could tell he was still wearing his jeans. Where he'd put his shirt, she couldn't fathom—it wasn't lying on the floor or the furniture.

But then she remembered. She'd tripped when he was trying to help her into the house, and he'd muttered something about the fact that she already had stitches and swung her up into his arms, which meant he'd gotten vomit on him. He'd taken off his shirt when he'd been trying to clean her up.

Maybe he'd even thrown it away...

Should she go on about her business and let him sleep? Or should she cook him breakfast, apologize for her behavior last night and send him on his way?

She was about to slip out and save herself the humiliation of having to face him. With any luck, they could go the next few months without having to bump into each other. She liked that idea—the idea that maybe he'd forget about the worst of last night, the most embarrassing parts. But he opened those startling blue eyes of his and looked up at her before she could peel her gaze away from the mark she'd left on his neck.

"Hey," he said. "I see you're in another suit. That's a good sign. You must be feeling more like yourself."

"I have a terrible hangover, but I deserve that and more."

He covered a yawn. "I think you got the 'more' part last night."

"True. And, sadly, you paid a price too, even though you were mostly an innocent bystander." She took a deep breath, preparing to deliver the apology she owed him. "I'm really sorry about—"

With a grimace, he lifted a hand. "Please don't apologize again. Humans aren't always perfect, Evelyn. I asked you to be real, asked you to come down off your high horse and visit the people of Hilltop where they like to hang out. And you did. I respect that and can understand the rest. You don't normally drink, didn't know exactly what was in those fruity concoctions Shorty kept shoving at you, and you wound up overdoing it. It's not a crime."

She liked his dark five o'clock shadow, loved how his hair was going every which way. Somehow seeing him fresh out of "bed" made him even sexier, which was rather...unsettling, since such thoughts were so unusual for her. "Okay, I appreciate your generosity. So why don't I go out and clean your truck, and then we can agree to forget about it?"

"Since I've already cleaned my truck, we can forget about it even sooner." He gave her a grudging smile. "I didn't think the smell would get better with time."

She returned that smile simply because it was hard not to smile at a man who looked so good. "I can't fault your logic, and of course I'll pay to have it professionally detailed."

"Like I said, I took care of it. It's not the first time I've encountered someone who's gotten sick."

"Well, it's the first time I've ever humiliated myself in that way." And if she had to do such a thing, why couldn't she have done it with someone else?

"I can't say that's anything to pride yourself on," he said. "It's hard to humiliate yourself in front of others if you never hang out with anyone to begin with."

"I have friends!"

"That you go out and have a good time with? Or are we talking about an occasional intellectual discussion—an intellectual discussion about, wait for it, deviant behavior. I'm sure that's just what you need. More examples of men who have raped, murdered and maimed."