Royal Line (Tattered Royals #1) - Carrie Ann Ryan Page 0,18

for whatever room we were in. I knew it was male, but I had no idea who the hell it belonged to. To make matters worse I didn’t know where I was to begin with.

That probably should’ve caused a bit of concern, but for the moment, I just needed my head to stop pounding and for whoever was growling to move away.

“London, open your damn eyes.” The tone was sharp.

That forced my eyes open quickly. I immediately narrowed them at the man in front of me. He had tousled blond hair, striking blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw covered in a few-days-old beard that pegged him as a long-lost Hemsworth brother. His gaze narrowed in a match to mine.

“You don’t need to shout,” I snapped as I tried to lever myself up. I moved far too quickly, though, because nausea swept over me, and my stomach pitched. I would have moaned if I hadn’t thought I’d embarrass myself and vomit.

“Feel better, London?” he asked, the sarcasm in his tone making me want to punch him. Slowly, my memories returned in a scrapbook patchwork of the night before. I remembered just who I was looking at now.

For starters, he was far better-looking than my hazy memory gave him credit for. Either that or I had some sort of concussion and my vision couldn’t be trusted. But I remembered the way he’d hooked me to his back last night then climbed us out of the ravine. I remembered the rock-hard feel of his muscles. And God, his damn smell.

And worse, I remembered wanting to nuzzle into it.

Given the memory of just how strong he was, I’d likely hurt myself if I hit him. I opened my eyes again and assessed the man sitting next to me on the tiny bed. He was built, broad and tall, given how far his legs extended. His thick muscle was more than apparent under his relaxed-fit long-sleeve T-shirt. I had basically been rescued by Thor. Excellent.

The fact that my mouth watered had nothing to do with the head injury I’d sustained the night before. He was…stunning. I would never admit it, but drooling was definitely a possibility.

“Why are you on my bed?”

He snorted. “It’s our bed, baby. You’d better get accustomed to sharing.”

I ran the word our through my head. Then blinked. Had he slept next to me? “Excuse me?” I asked, looking around and groaning again at the pain in my head.

“I need to check you for a concussion.” With strong fingers, he lifted my chin and shined a light into my eyes.

My world spun, and nausea rose as my mind replayed everything that had happened. I needed to focus. I forced a deep breath, trying to regain some of my meager control. I hated feeling like I couldn’t grasp hold of my life. Like I was spinning and there was nothing I could do to fix it.

Focus, London. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” He mumbled a few things to himself that I couldn’t understand but nodded as he looked at me. As if checking out my eyes had reaffirmed any previous diagnosis he had made when I was passed out.

“No, of course I remember what happened last night. I just don’t understand how I ended up in bed. With you.”

His smirk was slow but held a note of worry. “You passed out after we got shot at. I didn’t have any other choice, so I brought you here. This is my hotel room. Looks like you’ll be fine though.”

His hotel room? Hell. And why did he sound vaguely annoyed by the idea?

“How do you know I’m fine?”

“Because I checked you over. Your ankle is a little swollen. You may have a slight concussion and definitely some bumps and bruises, but you’re no worse for wear. Nothing broken. Nothing that indicates internal bleeding. I’d like to have a doctor look you over though.”

The violation slid over me like an oil slick, and I pushed at him.

“How did you manage that while I was passed out?” I asked, my voice going into a higher octave with each word.

“Nothing like that. Jesus Christ.” He calmly pushed to his feet as if to give me space. “I had to do a quick check before I moved you from the roadside to here. I didn’t want to do any more damage than necessary.” He also slowed the cadence of his voice to something level and calming. Like he was used to dealing with hysterical people. “Every other room in the