“My throat hurts.”
“Sounds like it.”
“And my eyes hurt.”
“I’ll bet.”
“And my whole body hurts.”
“You’ve got a fever, Duchess.”
“Figures,” I murmured. “I’m on holiday. Fit as a fiddle through my boring bloody life, I go on holiday, I get a fever.”
I heard a not in the slightest unattractive chuckle and then, “Honey, I need to get you up, get some ibuprofen in you, some liquids.”
“No.”
“Nina.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Driver’s license, credit cards, passport.”
My eyes slightly opened and that was too much effort so I closed them again.
“You went through my purse.”
“Woman sick in my bed, yeah. Figured I should know her name.”
I tried to roll but that took too much effort too so I stopped trying and said, “Go away.”
“Help me out here.”
“Tired,” I mumbled.
“Honey.”
He called me “honey” twice. Niles never called me “honey” or “sweetheart” or “darling” or anything, not even Nina most the time which was my bloody name. In fact, Niles didn’t speak to me much if I thought about it which, at that moment, I didn’t have the energy to do.
I was nearly asleep again before I felt my body gently pulled up then what felt like my bottom sliding into a man’s lap then what felt like a glass against my lips.
“Drink,” that somewhat familiar, deep, gravelly voice ordered.
I drank.
The glass went away then I heard, “Open your mouth, Duchess.”
I did as I was told and felt something on my tongue.
The glass came back and then, “Swallow those down.”
I swallowed and jerked my head away, the pills going through my sore throat hurt like crazy.
I ended up with what felt like my forehead pressed into someone’s neck, soft fabric against my cheek.
“Ouch,” I whispered.
“Sorry, darlin’.”