Page 7 of Ariel’s Possessive Prince
Chapter 4
Everett
Hospitals smell like lemon cleaner covering sickness. The window by my bed is a gray postcard of rain-slick parking lot and low clouds, and somewhere in my head, a song about life not always being pretty keeps looping like my brain forgot how to pick a new track.
Ricky and Kara are arguing at the foot of my bed about who gets to babysit me. The IV stand judders with their indignation.
“I’ll take him home,” Kara says, calm and immovable.
“You have a board prep,” Ricky counters. “I’ll take him and physically tape him to the couch.”
“I don’t need taping,” I say, staring past them at the glass.
The bruise on my temple throbs in time with the heart monitor. Weird thing is, life feels obscenely beautiful right now. Concussion hum in my skull? Sure. But also, a mouth on mine in the rain. Red hair like a flare. Blue eyes burning with something wild and intimate. Lips parted as if she wanted more.
Unless I dreamed her. Unless I never fell overboard at all, and the EPIRB grew a conscience and launched itself.
The ER doc says, “mild concussion,” “take it easy,” and “no boats for forty-eight hours,” which is fucking adorable. The plan is to smile, nod, escape at the first opportunity, find the woman who may or may not be a hallucination, and thank her for dragging my stupid ass out of the water. Also, maybe ask if she routinely kisses drowning men or if I’m an exception.
“I’ll drive,” Kara decides. “Ricky can keep watch. Please keep him on the couch. He won’t let you put him to bed—”
“I’ll be good,” I lie pleasantly. Kara’s eyebrows say Sure, Everett.
She heads out to bring the car around. The door hushes shut. Ricky thrusts my pants at my face.
“Listen,” I say, dropping my voice as I wriggle into them under the gown. “I need you to find someone.”
“Oh, my God.” He goes full scandalized aunt. “You nearly died and now you want me to Tinder you a ‘congratulations on not being dead’ hookup?”
“For—” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “For once in your life, breathe, Ricardo. She saved me. Red hair. Blue eyes. Pulled me onto the boat like she was part motor. Kissed me. I’m not saying that last part out loud to the doctor because I enjoy being released.”
He pelts my shirt at my head. “So, a siren.”
“Don’t be mean to my fantasy woman,” I mutter, struggling into the T-shirt. “She was real. I felt her.” Heat pricks my neck at how that sounds. “Like, physically. Arms. Legs.” Full breasts, wet and pressed to my chest. Silky thighs straddling mine. A kiss that felt more like a claim than a rescue.
“Uh-huh,” Ricky says, which is assistant for I will humor you until Kara returns and then narc. He hands me my keys. “Wallet?”
I pat my back pocket. Empty. “Boat, maybe.”
“Not today.” He holds out my soggy socks with two fingers like they’re biohazards. I decline. Barefoot it is.
Kara glides back in, efficient as ever. “Car’s out front. Let’s go.”
We round the corner into the waiting area, and every plan I had slams into a new one. A marine police officer steps through the automatic doors, dripping lake water onto the linoleum. In his arms is a bedraggled woman in an oversized, shredded blue shirt and nothing else. Red hair in wet ropes. Face tucked into the officer’s shoulder. Bare legs pale against his dark uniform. Her face is hidden… but I know.
My heart stalls. My cock twitches.
“That’s her,” I breathe.
Ricky follows my line of sight. “The… homeless lady?” he hisses. “She looks like she got dropped into a survival show halfway through.”
“Officer,” I say, crossing the room before I can talk myself out of it.
He clocks me and does a little double take as he recognizes me. Oh, right, the rich guy whose company cleans up the trash humans leave behind.
“Found her on the shore,” he says. “She had your wallet and license.” He nods toward my name on the card in his pocket. “She can barely talk. Looks like she’s been through it. Figured I’d bring her here in case she needs medical attention. You know her?”
“Yeah, I know her.” The words come out on a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
