Chapter Seven

Shay took a deep breath, then another one. Warren watched her lick her lips, and realized that she’d been without food or water for hours. How many hours, he wondered. God, maybe as many as fourteen. That was no damn good: the last thing he needed was her passing out on him from hunger or dehydration.

Abruptly, without a word, he spun around, stalked over to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, put it on the island.

“C’mere,” he said roughly. “Drink.”

Shay hesitated, still hugging herself.

“Come. Here.” His voice was pure steel now. “Don’t make me come over there and get you, girl. You won’t like it if that happens.”

She gave a small gasp, stumbled to her feet. He watched as she swayed for a few seconds, and he had the uneasy thought that she’d pass out almost for certain. God knows, she’d been through a lot, and if she felt dizzy or faint, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Shay gritted her teeth, and seemed to give herself a mental shake. Her first steps were slow, but at least they were steady. She walked across the living room, came into the kitchen. She stopped about five feet away from him, regarding him warily.

He pointed with his chin at the water. “Drink.”

She took a few more steps, still eyeing him. Warren stayed still, silent, just nailed his eyes on her. She needed to drink that goddamn water, but she wasn’t going to do that if he so much as leaned in her direction, he knew. So he just stood on the other side of the island and watched as she unscrewed the plastic lid, took a few sips, then drank deeply. When she lowered the bottle, it was almost half-empty.

He move to the side now, and Shay jumped, scuttled backwards.

“Stop,” he ordered again.

She froze in place.

“You hungry?” he said.

She hesitated, shook her head, then nodded.

“Which is it?” he grated. “Yes or no?”

She gasped again, crossed her arms.

“Answer me, or you can head downstairs without a meal.”

Shay bit her lip, and he found himself suddenly looking at her mouth. Her lips were cracked and dry, for sure, but still… they were curved in the most distracting way. Their plump, pouty fullness was also an interesting contrast to the rest of her body.

Shay Alcott was a tall woman, no doubt about that. He had maybe three inches on her, and Warren was just over six feet. She was slim, too, all long, streamlined limbs. God, those legs went on fucking forever in those baggy jeans, and he wondered if they were as full and rounded as those amazing lips, or if they were angular and fragile like her wrists.

Shaking off his thoughts, he cocked his blond head at her. “So? You gonna answer me?”

“I’m – I’m –” Her words were a croak as she spoke for the first time, and she drank a bit more water. “Yes. I’m hungry.”

Warren couldn’t help a reaction at finally hearing her voice. It was a minuscule reaction, of course, since eight months of seeing nothing but bad shit go down in front of him had taught him exactly how not to react to anything, and not ever.

Still, though… hearing Shay’s voice was something that demanded a reaction from Warren. It was a small voice, weak, tired, afraid. But it had an undercurrent to it, too. Like a gentle, undulating stream or a lilting piece of music, her voice was sweet and fresh and light.

Pure. Innocent.

Not liking the way his thoughts were going, he narrowed his eyes at her, made her wait for his answer. Finally, he nodded.

“OK. Check the fridge, see what you can make us for lunch.”

She blinked at him, and he saw her confusion. He grinned at her now; he made sure it wasn’t a nice grin.