Traci On The Spot by Marie Ferrarella

Author:Marie Ferrarella [Marie Ferrarella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781459273955
Publisher: Harlequin

Her eyelids weighed a ton. Each one. It took her several vain attempts to pry open her eyes. Each time she tried, she found she couldn’t lift them. It was as if they were nailed down.

Traci thought she heard a voice. Someone was talking to her, but she couldn’t place who it was or what was being said. And there were shadows moving, drifting here and there. Some belonged to the voice. Others didn’t.

Each time she was sure she’d opened her eyes and looked, she discovered that she hadn’t.

It was frustrating as hell.

Traci moaned, trying to turn, to sit up, confident that if she did, her eyes would open.

She began to make things out more clearly. There were hands holding her down. Gentle hands. Strong hands. She struggled against them and lost that fight, too. There seemed to be no energy flowing through her. Nothing. No blood.

Blood.

Jeremiah.

Oh, God, she’d killed Jeremiah. She’d heard his pitiful moan just before she—what?

Where was she? Traci twisted again, but the same two hands were holding her down. They were pressing on her arms. She fought, struggled, tried to speak, and still her eyes refused to budge.

Was it a dream? Was she dead?

It was a lot drier where she was.

Heaven?

In the distance somewhere, she heard the crackle of something. Fire?

Was she in hell? She groaned in fear.

“Damn it, even when you’re unconscious, you’re a problem.”

Morgan, that was Morgan’s voice. Was he dead, too? No, she’d left him in the house. Him and his lips.

With supreme effort, Traci concentrated on the sound of his voice, on surfacing out of this cottony netherworld she was trapped in.

Inch by inch, she made it to the top. Her eyes finally flew open and focused on Morgan. He was looming over her, almost larger than life. And he was holding her down. Touching her. Never mind that it was only her arms. She could feel it all along her body.

This had to stop.

“Get your hands off me,” she breathed.

Grasping at indignation and hoping it would give her the shot of adrenaline she needed, Traci bolted upright. A second later, she became one with the pain that rushed up to greet her. Her head felt like an egg that had been cracked open against the side of a pan.

Instinctively, her hand went to her head. There was a bandage there.

“What the—?”

Morgan grabbed her wrist and firmly held on to it. “Leave that alone,” he ordered. “You hit your head on the steering wheel and cut your forehead.” When he saw that she was actually going to listen to him, he released her wrist. “Although I didn’t think anything as hard as that could be cut by anything less than the sharp edge of a diamond.”

Everything felt as if it were submerged in her mind, mired in thick chicken soup. She looked around. She was back in the house. On the sofa. Before the fireplace. But that was impossible.

“How did I get here?”

The color was returning to her cheeks. That was a good sign.

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