CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Mary? Mary, are you okay? Are you okay, Ma . . . ry . . . chel . . . rychel . . . Rachel . . . Are you okay?”
Rachel could feel his arms about her, feel and smell his hot savory breath wafting across her face as she regained consciousness. He must have carried her to his bed, for something felt soft and luxurious beneath her body. A cold, wet cloth was run across her forehead and cheeks, and she heard him repeat in a soft, low voice, “Rachel?”
She opened her eyes, comforted to see his just inches from her own.
“You smell like potatoes.” Despite the ache in her head, she smiled.
His lips parted in a concerned grin. “And you had me worried.” He sat up straight on the edge of the bed, but she placed her hand on his arm to stop him. He appeared puzzled. “What?”
Rach
