Special Gifts by Anne Stuart

Author:Anne Stuart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks, Inc
Published: 2019-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

WHEN ELIZABETH woke up she had no idea what time it was. Despite Sam’s arrogant assertion, she really did need her glasses, at least occasionally, and the dull red glow from the digital clock beside her refused to coalesce into numbers. She could always move closer and peer at it, but she wasn’t ready to do that. She wasn’t ready to move at all.

It was probably sometime after midnight but well before dawn. She had the washed-out, weary feeling she always had after one of her sessions, yet this time she felt oddly different. Probably because her visions had been different, she thought, staring up at the ceiling, moving nothing but her eyelids. Usually these things moved slowly, building in intensity. That brief, horrible glimpse into another world had been the psychic equivalent of a quickie. Fast and hard and emotionally devastating, all in an abnormally short period of time.

She shouldn’t have woken up at all. She should have slept for hours, days even, recouping her strength. And yet her strength already seemed to be flowing back, her strength and her interest in life. A few hours ago she’d looked and felt like a corpse. Now life and blood were stirring in her, coursing through her, and she found herself wondering if Sam had left any Chinese food behind. If he’d drunk all the dark beer. If the red dress was still draped across the chair at the foot of the bed, and if it would fit her as well as the lace underwear Sam had bought her.

It took her sleep-muddled brain a moment to realize she was still wearing that underwear. The pale peach bikini panties and lace-trimmed bra that subtly enhanced her meager curves. She was wearing the fancy underwear and nothing else.

And she wasn’t alone. That deep, steady humming noise in the back of her brain wasn’t a furnace, wasn’t the cosmos humming along. It was the steady, quiet breathing of the man who was asleep beside her. The man who’d managed to strip off most of her clothes without waking her up and then covered her with her grandmother’s quilt.

She turned her head slowly to look at him. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even. At least he wasn’t naked. He was wearing a white T-shirt and navy-blue jockey boxer briefs, and she’d managed to hog all the covers, leaving him exposed in the warm apartment air. She lay there staring at him, curiosity and a certain lassitude keeping her from moving.

She’d known his legs were long, but she hadn’t realized how long. They were covered with a light dusting of dark hair, and his bare feet were long and narrow. She let her eyes skim past the briefs, determined to be matter-of-fact in her perusal. She’d never had the chance to simply observe a man’s body before, and in her current state she found it fascinating. The baggy white T-shirt had ridden up, exposing his flat stomach, and she realized he had hair there, too, riding down his abdomen and disappearing in the low-slung briefs.

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