he turned from the room. “I gave him a shitload of that tranquilizer. He’ll be out for hours.”
Jessica’s shoulders sagged. “Shit.”
Now what? She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them with her palms, letting her head rest there a moment while considering her options. It didn’t take long—there weren’t many. She had to find a doorway and go back. Maybe . . . maybe she could somehow take him back with her.
As if I know how this whole freaky doorway thing works .
Jessica lifted her head and stared at the man’s shoulder blades stretching his cotton tee. It was worth a try. Not a lot to lose at this point.
She drew up close beside him and pulled the coin from her pocket. Rising up on her knees, she leaned in to speak near his ear. The very warm scent of a man’s skin rose through a thin veil of soap. He was the crispy half of the smell she’d caught earlier. Lemon . . . Spice . . . For his condition and surroundings, she hadn’t expected him to smell so . . . well, good. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed the scent of a man’s skin. Jessica closed her eyes and breathed him in. Oh, yes, he had one of those scents that made a woman want to burrow her face in his neck, snuggle naked under the covers, wear his clothes....
We believe this man is Quaid, Jessica.
No. Her eyes popped open and she leaned away, her stomach fluttering. So he smelled clean. So what? She could look at this man’s size, his build, and know this wasn’t Quaid. Her husband had been heavily muscular, thick in his chest, arms and thighs. He’d lifted weights and easily retained mass. This man’s smaller frame couldn’t begin to hold that amount of muscle.
A futile and far-too-familiar brew of anger and loss tightened her chest. She didn’t understand how her closest friends could have even voiced such a wicked possibility as Quaid still being alive.
She curled her fingers around Q’s wrist and held tight. With the other hand, she tilted the coin toward the small window, trying to catch a sliver of daylight to open a doorway.
“Come on, baby,” she murmured to the coin. “Bring us home.”
The man shifted on the mattress. The movement pulled at the cuff on his wrist and muscles flexed through his arm, rolling beneath the cotton. She reassessed the sinew in his forearms and biceps. Maybe she’d mistaken extreme fitness for malnutrition.
Her gaze traveled from his bicep to his face, and the sight of his jawline, now exposed, shot a tingle of awareness across her chest. Before her mind had time to wander to places it didn’t belong, he yanked at the cuff again.
“Shhhh.” She leaned close, her mouth just inches from his ear, her gaze darting toward the door. “They’ll hear you.”
A noise rumbled from his throat, and he turned his head in a languid, sleepy way that swept familiar currents through Jessica’s belly. His eyelids fluttered and his head turned toward her voice. When his dark eyes found hers through that thick screen of lashes, Jessica’s whole world slid sideways.
Velvet brown eyes. Sexy. Molten.
We believe this man is Quaid.
Self-protection raised a barrier on her thoughts to keep out the what if s. Hope pounded against that barrier, searching for a miracle. While all Jessica could do was stare.
His lashes lifted a little more, and Jessica’s stomach caught in her throat. “Oh . . . oh, my God.”
She sat back to get a full view of his face. Took his head in both hands and turned it toward her, so she could see his features all at once. One side of his face was scraped and raw, the cuts still harboring dirt.
No, this isn’t Quaid.
Wait . . .
No.
But . . .
She scoured his face, forehead to chin, over and over, trying to convince herself, one way or the other. He didn’t have Quaid’s nose. And there was something different about his mouth. The set of his jaw was wrong. But, damn, those eyes just sucker punched her.
His face was just as handsome, rugged, sexy and
Jessica’s shoulders sagged. “Shit.”
Now what? She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them with her palms, letting her head rest there a moment while considering her options. It didn’t take long—there weren’t many. She had to find a doorway and go back. Maybe . . . maybe she could somehow take him back with her.
As if I know how this whole freaky doorway thing works .
Jessica lifted her head and stared at the man’s shoulder blades stretching his cotton tee. It was worth a try. Not a lot to lose at this point.
She drew up close beside him and pulled the coin from her pocket. Rising up on her knees, she leaned in to speak near his ear. The very warm scent of a man’s skin rose through a thin veil of soap. He was the crispy half of the smell she’d caught earlier. Lemon . . . Spice . . . For his condition and surroundings, she hadn’t expected him to smell so . . . well, good. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed the scent of a man’s skin. Jessica closed her eyes and breathed him in. Oh, yes, he had one of those scents that made a woman want to burrow her face in his neck, snuggle naked under the covers, wear his clothes....
We believe this man is Quaid, Jessica.
No. Her eyes popped open and she leaned away, her stomach fluttering. So he smelled clean. So what? She could look at this man’s size, his build, and know this wasn’t Quaid. Her husband had been heavily muscular, thick in his chest, arms and thighs. He’d lifted weights and easily retained mass. This man’s smaller frame couldn’t begin to hold that amount of muscle.
A futile and far-too-familiar brew of anger and loss tightened her chest. She didn’t understand how her closest friends could have even voiced such a wicked possibility as Quaid still being alive.
She curled her fingers around Q’s wrist and held tight. With the other hand, she tilted the coin toward the small window, trying to catch a sliver of daylight to open a doorway.
“Come on, baby,” she murmured to the coin. “Bring us home.”
The man shifted on the mattress. The movement pulled at the cuff on his wrist and muscles flexed through his arm, rolling beneath the cotton. She reassessed the sinew in his forearms and biceps. Maybe she’d mistaken extreme fitness for malnutrition.
Her gaze traveled from his bicep to his face, and the sight of his jawline, now exposed, shot a tingle of awareness across her chest. Before her mind had time to wander to places it didn’t belong, he yanked at the cuff again.
“Shhhh.” She leaned close, her mouth just inches from his ear, her gaze darting toward the door. “They’ll hear you.”
A noise rumbled from his throat, and he turned his head in a languid, sleepy way that swept familiar currents through Jessica’s belly. His eyelids fluttered and his head turned toward her voice. When his dark eyes found hers through that thick screen of lashes, Jessica’s whole world slid sideways.
Velvet brown eyes. Sexy. Molten.
We believe this man is Quaid.
Self-protection raised a barrier on her thoughts to keep out the what if s. Hope pounded against that barrier, searching for a miracle. While all Jessica could do was stare.
His lashes lifted a little more, and Jessica’s stomach caught in her throat. “Oh . . . oh, my God.”
She sat back to get a full view of his face. Took his head in both hands and turned it toward her, so she could see his features all at once. One side of his face was scraped and raw, the cuts still harboring dirt.
No, this isn’t Quaid.
Wait . . .
No.
But . . .
She scoured his face, forehead to chin, over and over, trying to convince herself, one way or the other. He didn’t have Quaid’s nose. And there was something different about his mouth. The set of his jaw was wrong. But, damn, those eyes just sucker punched her.
His face was just as handsome, rugged, sexy and
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