My mouth turns into cotton. I try to swallow through the dryness but just gag. Attempt number two makes my stomach throb angrily.
Ugh. I so don’t want to throw up. I hate barfing with a passion.
I groan at the thought and a flicker of memory I could do without.
I manage to swallow, slowly looking up at him. “I threw up on you, didn’t I?”
His blue eyes sparkle, and he flashes me another one of those smiles that could make the most rotten day smell like roses.
“Nope,” he says. “Lucky for both of us, your aim sucks big time. You missed me and got the bed.”
“Oh, God. Like that’s any better?” I mumble.
“Wasn’t much. I came prepared.” He kicks something lightly beside the bed, and there’s a metallic rattling sound that screams bucket.
Crap. I remember now. Mongolian throat singing into the bucket and just barely spattering the covers, but that’s probably why the handsome help woke me up, bringing fresh new sheets.
Of course I remember that. Just like every other infamous, embarrassing thing the brain loves latching on to.
Sooo, where’s the rest of my life before I spent my time defiling strangers’ beds?
Why can’t I remember anything? Like how I got here? Where here is, and who Mr. Sea Glass is?
A face like his seems hard to forget.
How can a girl just have her marbles snatched away overnight?
“Don’t worry. I washed the bedding,” he says. “You’ve been holed up for a few hours dreaming your pretty little heart out.”
Something about the way he talks makes me snort. “Don’t humor me. I’m a far cry from pretty anything right now.”
That piercing blue gaze of his narrows, studying me. “We’re a far cry from Exorcist pea soup territory, honey. Both of us better thank our lucky fucking stars it’s not worse. You could’ve died.”
A second later, I realize how much worse he means. I grimace and instantly feel the side of my head stinging.
Reaching up, I touch my temple. My pain goes from annoying slow burn to frying pan hot.
“Careful,” he growls, grabbing my hand and easing it back down. “You’ve got a nasty gash there.”
“How? Did I fall off a cliff or something?” I ask, one of a thousand frantic questions zooming through my mind. “Where are we? Who are you? How’d I get here, anyway?”
“Shit.” A frown knits his dark brows into a V. “You really don’t remember, huh?”
I try.
Really, truly try to dredge up something. But I’m not even sure if I know how to remember.
What the hell is going on here? It’s like someone took a pressure washer full of bleach to my whole brain.
Mr. Sea Glass just stares. Somehow that makes my cheeks heat.
Rolling the back of my head against the softness of the pillow, I try relaxing again. Searching for another flicker of a memory. One that doesn’t involve me getting sick in this bed.
Nada.
It’s like my life started here.
“No,” I finally sigh out, holding my breath at the cold panicky shiver rolling through me. “I just can’t remember anything.”
Crud. I shouldn’t have said that.
I still don’t have the foggiest idea who my mysterious caretaker is. Good looks could be deceptive. Stranger danger should be my new motto. This is a strange place.
Isn’t it?
The fact that I can’t tell makes this even more worrisome.
Mr. Sea Glass reaches over and pats my hand. “Don’t freak. You’re alive and breathing. That means there’s a good chance the rest will come back sooner or later. You, uh...you had an accident.”
He looks away when he says the last part. Why?
“What kind of accident?” I whisper slowly, my free hand balling into a nervous little fist.
I’m scared. For all I know, this guy had something to do with it. If he wants to set me up for another untimely 'accident,' I wouldn't stand a prayer. Not against a human wall like him.
“A boating accident,” he says, his gaze snapping back to me. “The ship went down and you're lucky you didn’t go with it. Barely managed to get you back here in one piece.”
Searching his eyes, I find a flicker of truth. I hope.
For now, it’s enough. So I look past him to a set of French doors framed with long, flowing, translucent green sheers. They’re hanging open, and beyond them is a concrete lanai with a white brick wall. Past that, there’s a faint hint of a sandy beach, the ocean, all murmuring waves and soft breezes.
My heart thuds. I couldn’t forget that scenery if I