*Evangeline*
“What?” He shoots up in bed, groans, grabs his head, and falls back down.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he mutters, breathing with short, quick gasps.
"Is swearing thrice more effective than swearing once?" I ask.
He chuckles low in his throat. "Hardly. But it brings me some satisfaction. Now, tell me about this man who's following you."
"Only if you will close your eyes and allow me to do what I can to ease your pain. My father suffered horrendous headaches. Applying pressure at his temples helped." I tell him.
I'm near enough to see that Claybourne is no stranger to hurt… his body bears the evidence with small scars here and there on what is otherwise an immensely attractive chest. I hate the thought of him enduring any sort of discomfort. What has he ever done to deserve such a
