The Fortune Most Likely To... by Marie Ferrarella

Author:Marie Ferrarella [Ferrarella, Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-12-07T13:47:02+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“What are you doing in my house?”

The raspy voice was hardly louder than a hoarse whisper, but it was definitely unnerving and accusatory in nature. Catching Everett off guard, it made him jump in his chair and almost caused him to knock it over.

Coming to, Everett realized that he must have finally dozed off for a few minutes.

It took him a moment longer before it hit him that it was Lila who’d asked the question.

Fully awake now, he got up and stood over Lila’s bed. Her eyes were open and she looked bewildered. Relief washed over him as he took her hand in his. “You’re awake!”

“And you didn’t answer my question,” Lila responded, annoyed with herself because she couldn’t seem to speak any louder. “What are you doing in my house?” she asked again.

Bits and pieces were slowly beginning to dawn on her. She looked down at herself. “And where are my clothes?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at Everett angrily. “You undressed me,” Lila choked out. It was not a question.

Everett wasn’t about to deny the obvious, but she needed to understand why he’d removed her clothes. “You had a high fever and you were sweating. Your clothes were soaked straight through.”

Frustration robbed her of the little voice she had so she couldn’t immediately respond. She struggled to sit up.

All Everett had to do was put his hand gently on her shoulder to keep her down, which he did. “Don’t exert yourself,” he told her.

Who the hell did he think he was? He couldn’t tell her what to do, Lila thought angrily. Her head was throbbing and she couldn’t remember anything. But one thing was obvious.

“You took off my clothes,” she accused again.

“I already explained why,” Everett told her patiently.

She couldn’t make any sense out of what he’d told her. “But we were in the restaurant,” she protested, desperately trying to piece things together. It felt as if there was a huge gaping hole in her brain and facts were just falling through it, disappearing without a trace.

Maybe if he gave her a summary of the events, Everett thought, it might calm her down.

“You passed out in the restaurant,” he told her. “I brought you to your house and carried you to your room. Your clothes were all wet, so I got you out of them and into that jersey.”

She looked down again, doing her best to focus on what she was looking at. The jersey seemed to swim in front of her eyes. “You went through my things,” she accused.

“Just in order to find something to put on you,” he answered simply. Maybe he should have let it go at that, but he couldn’t help saying, “You kept my jersey.”

She wasn’t about to get into that—and she wouldn’t have had to if he hadn’t gone rummaging through her drawers, she thought angrily.

“You had no right to go through my things,” she said defensively.

This was going nowhere. He wasn’t about to get sucked into a circular debate about what he’d done and why he’d done it.

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