Page 67 of Reset

Her wild side had gotten her into trouble before, and Sarah was wise to it.

“Hey,” Ryan called. “Look what I found.”

She glanced across the room, but all she saw was him holding up something large for her to see.

“What is it?”

“Hessian sacks. A pile of them. I think they used them to pack the mushrooms. We can make a pallet with them, which means we won’t have to sleep on the stone.”

He was so pleased with himself that it made her smile. “That’s great.”

Obviously feeling like the great provider, Ryan sauntered over to her and stopped dead when he saw what she was wearing.

“Whoa, that’s the ugliest underwear I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something because my friend Julia once wore granny knickers with the days of the week printed on her backside.”

Where to start? “First, my underwear isn’t ugly. It’s plain. Which is fine for work. You know, the place where I was before someone abducted me.” She looked down at the beige cotton bra and panties set. There was nothing wrong with it. “Second, why were you looking at your friend’s knickers?”

And why did she feel a flush of jealousy about it too?

“It’s a whole story, involving a stolen mummy and a very high fence. I’ll fill you in later.” His eyes slid down her body and lingered at her little pooch of a belly. “Is that a tattoo? You rebel. What is it?”

She was about to remind him that he already knew, when she remembered he didn’t. “None of your business,” she said instead.

“Oh, I think it is.” He grinned as he kept coming toward her. “It’s got to be something really meaningful. Is it some weird statistic?”

She slapped a hand over the tattoo—another consequence of letting her wild inner child free.

“Come on, Stats, let me see.” He pouted. “I’ll beg if you like.”

Oh, he was the devil. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer a quid pro quo situation. She’d show him her tattoos—because yes, she had more than one—if he took off his boxers. Not so she could perv at him, you understand, but so things would be fair. She was all about the fairness.

“It's a quote, isn't it?” he said, taking a step toward her. “I bet it’s some cr—”

Suddenly, he fell to his knees. His hands clasped his head, and the bag with the mushrooms spilled onto the floor, its contents rolling across the rock.

“Ryan!” Sarah crouched down beside him. Hesitant about whether she should touch him or not. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

He groaned, a horrible pain-filled whine.

“Ryan, speak to me. I don’t know what’s happening. Please, you’re scaring me.” She gently put her hands on his shoulders.

“Migraine,” he gritted out.

Sarah had seen migraines before, she’d even experienced one herself, but they’d looked nothing like this. He was in agony, doubled over and groaning as he held his head. Did migraines come on that suddenly?

“What do you need? Wait, I have some aspirin.”

He didn’t reply. All he did was rock back and forth. She’d seen Ryan hurt, and he’d just shrugged it off, too tough to let a small thing like an injury stop him. Yet there he was, huddled on the floor, unable to answer because of the pain in his head.

Sarah rushed over to the spot where they’d stored the contents of her bag. Grabbing the aspirin and one of the water bottles, she hurried back to Ryan.

“Take this. It’ll help.” It had to. It was all there was to give him.

She held out the aspirin, but he didn’t take it. His eyes were closed, and he didn’t seem to hear her.

“These are painkillers,” she said gently as she placed the pills against his lips. “Open your mouth, Ryan.” Once he’d taken them, she held the water to his mouth and gently encouraged him to swallow.

Helpless to do anything else, she could only watch as he slumped to his side and curled into a ball on the ground. His hands never left his head, and every now and then, he let out a low, pain-filled moan.