Latvis Security Services

by Lexie Ray

  It would have been a lot easier if she could have turned on a light. But since Mads had taken to covering his eyes with his arm, she decided that it might not be the best idea. Although, after him messing with her, it was tempting. Tracing her hands along the wall, she was finally able to find a seam and pulled the door open. Making sure the door was securely closed behind her, she switched on the light to display a glistening bathroom.

  It was a little larger than one would think for a half bathroom, and most of that space was taken up by a stand-alone tub. It was the kind built for lounging, with a padded back and towering sides. She never would have picked him for the bath type, but the array of bath salts and assorted products suggested that he favored them a lot. It was a struggle to keep her mind from contemplating just what he would look like naked and slick with suds.

  “Aspirin,” she reminded herself aloud. “Focus.”

  There was a mirrored medicine cabinet fixed to the wall over the sink. It was somehow both predictable and surprising to find all of the contents inside perfectly, almost neurotically, arranged. She found the small jar of aspirin easily enough and found a glass resting on the basin rim, which she filled. Leaving the door slightly ajar, just enough for the glow to help her see, she slipped back into the room.

  Mads hadn’t moved. His long legs left his bare feet planted against the carpet while the rest of him remained slumped across the bed. It was fine for now, but if he slept like that he was going to sorry in the morning. Well, sorrier. His bare chest rose and fell in a staggered motion, his stomach muscles twitching. It had her looking around for a wastepaper basket.

  “Okay, Mads. You’re going to have to help me now. Can you sit up?”

  A staggered groan and a randomly flung arm were the grand total of his response.

  “Come on,” she sighed. “Don’t make this harder on me.”

  At that, Mads lifted his arm slightly, just enough for him to glance over at her.

  “Let’s get you comfy.”

  It took him a lot of effort but he managed to stagger up. It only took a little more coaxing for him to accept the meds. He swallowed them with a mouthful of water and a wince.

  “Uh uh,” Willow chastised. “The whole glass.”

  He scowled.

  “Would you do it for a Scooby-snack?”

  The scowl deepened and Willow forced down her own frustrated snarl. He ignored her and began to ease himself back down.

  “Do it for yourself then. Your head will thank you tomorrow. Please, Mads.”

  He hesitated, eyed her for a moment, and began to push himself upright again.

  “Okay, I need to know. Was it self-preservation, or are you that much of a stickler for manners even when sloshed?”

  Even if she had spoken the language, there was no way she would have heard him anyway. But he drank the whole glass, so she took it as a win.

  “One more?”

  He shook his head. Despite the situation, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to test her theory.

  “Please.”

  For a long time, he just watched her, and for the first time she could see him struggling to remain present. Then he nodded. Just once. Willow hurried to get it before he changed his mind and snatched up the bottle of mouthwash as a second thought. He was going downhill fast and she doubted he would keep upright long enough to brush his teeth. As he drank the second glass of water, she collected the wastepaper basket and checked that it was well lined with a plastic bag.

  “Okay, that’s great.”

  The scowl was back, and she decided that the gentle encouragement track might not be the best way to go.

  “Thank you.”

  That got a stronger reaction and he nodded, his eyes drifting closed as if pulled down by a heavy weight.

  “Mouthwash. Again, you’ll thank me in the morning.” She added a “Please?” and he obediently swirled the liquid around his mouth. It was almost endearing how he held up one hand to prevent her from seeing him spit the liquid into the basket.

  “Let’s get you comfortable.”

  She moved to the far side of the unnecessarily large bed and pulled down the top sheet. Obviously summoning the last bits of his energy, Mads shuffled so he was sitting on the sheets with his back against the headboard. Instead of moving his legs, however, he began to fumble with the buttons of his fly. His pants were suit slacks and wouldn’t be all that comfortable to sleep in. Willow understood the struggle, but that didn’t make it easier to trust herself in helping.

  Finally, he gave up with a huff and a few words that she reasoned would have to be insulting to someone and their mothers. He sagged against the headboard and, with the words tripping over themselves in his mouth, he motioned to the buttons with a limp hand.

  “I’m not doing that.”

  Mads’ words took on a rougher edge, faltering between annoyance and a rather undignified whine. Within a few moments, he had deteriorated enough to sound almost like a petulant child. His words bled together into one long, irritating drone that pressed on Willow’s nerves.

  “Fine!” she snapped. “But don’t move.”

  He let his hands fall limply to his sides and closed his eyes. It made it a lot easier to shuffle closer. It almost meant that Willow didn’t have to hide her annoyance when she discovered his fly was a full button up. Who even made these kinds of pants? It had to be a special order. Which meant that at some point in time, Mads himself had decided to pay however many extra fees because zippers were beneath him.

  Willow’s fingers trembled slightly as she reached towards his waistband. Mads didn’t open his eyes. His chest rose and feel in deep, measured breaths. She had the nasty thought that he was struggling to keep the contents of his stomach where they were. Really, that should have helped kill her suddenly awakening libido. It didn’t, proving once again that either Mads or life itself were out to ruin her. Willow took that personally and clutched tight to that resentment to keep herself moving.

  After numerous failed attempts, she came to the conclusion that it was impossible to work the buttons open without making contact with Mads’ skin. The fine hairs that trailed down the center of his chest and disappeared under the waistband of his pants tickled against her knuckles. His stomach muscles quivered at every light touch. Trying to focus, she bit her bottom lip. It was a huge mistake.

  Traces of his taste still lingered on her lips and it hit her anew. It was a distraction she really didn’t need right now. Every place he had touched her ignited like fireworks under her skin. It was a shot of adrenaline, one that left Willow craving more the second she felt it. The top button popped open, both a blessing and a torment.

  She found herself staring at the newly exposed skin with the consuming knowledge that she had never seen it before. Actually, she had never seen this much of Mads before, skin or otherwise. It was a humbling notion. Under the influence or not, he had welcomed her in. Allowed her to see a part of him that he kept so tightly hidden that even his closest friends hadn’t known of its existence before his life had imploded.

  The second button was easer and she breathed a sigh of relief to discover the beginnings of a pair of boxer briefs. While the bulge they concealed was hard to ignore, it was a lot better than finding skin, and Willow would just deal with her lingering sense of disappointment later. Mads didn’t move as she continued her work and, oddly enough, as she neared the end of the line of buttons, that stopped being helpful. Seeing him so relaxed only filled her head with other ways he might get into such a mood. Graphic, detailed ideas.

  She snapped her hands away, her eyes wide, when she realized that the thought didn’t send her brain running in the opposite direction. When, exactly, had she grown comfortable thinking about Mads like that? When had things shifted from appreciation to desire? And how had she not noticed?

  Mads drew in a deep breath, his chest expanding to capacity as he began to shove blindly at his pants. With a lot of denial and suppression, Willow managed to help him get
his legs free and settled him under the blankets.

  “I’m putting the waste basket here, if you need it. I’m just going to get you some water.”

  He grumbled something unintelligible and let her pull the thick comforter on top of him. Willow scrambled away and quickly refilled his glass. This time, when she left the bathroom, she left only the slimmest of openings. She pulled the blinds, and the room dropped into a light so weak it might as well have been candles. The glass cup clinked against the bedside table gently and Mads opened his eyes.

  “Just sleep. I’ll see you in the morning when you hate yourself.”

  Before she could turn away, his hand shot out from under the sheets and wrapped around her wrist. It was barely a whisper, but she recognised the single word he spoke. Stay.

  “Mads, I should really—”

  “Likti.”

  The single word came out with a heartbreaking quiver. It was the first and the only time she had actually heard him afraid. With all of her personal revelations, she had completely forgotten the reasons that had driven Mads to the state he was in. That there was some part of him that would forever be stuck within that night. Terrified. Alone.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  His answering smile was hesitant but still a good sign. Willow kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her jacket. Only then did she remember that she was still in her work gear. Which essentially meant that she was smeared with potter’s soil. Not something that should be brought in between his Egyptian cotton sheets. After a moment of hesitation, she decided that it would be the lesser of two evils to change into one of his shirts. It took a little searching, but she was finally able to locate an actual T-shirt instead of his usual button downs. Quickly changing in the bathroom, and delighting that the shirt fit more like a nightgown on her, Willow headed back into the room.

  Mads didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he just reached behind him and flipped the sheets back. She hesitantly got in. The sheets were delicate and smooth; the mattress cradled her like a hug; and exhaustion pushed down on her. Mads reached back, groping the sheets until he found her hand. Gripping Willow’s fingers like a lifeline, he pulled her closer until she was pressed firmly against his spine. She took the not-so-subtle hint and hugged him tightly. He fell asleep with his fingers still entwined with her own.

  Chapter Three

  Mads woke up to his head pounding and his stomach twisted so thoroughly into knots that it took a great deal of effort not to gag. Every inch of his body was fighting a war against the rest, leaving him to contemplate the merits of just knocking himself unconscious until a winner was declared.

  He didn’t bother to open his eyes. There wasn’t anything worth seeing anyway. Just an empty room in a cold and broken house. He worked his ravaged throat. The burning ache told him that he had indulged in a bit too much scotch. And most likely a great deal of his wine collection. All in all, far too much. His stomach rolled again and he pulled his legs up, curling in on himself in an attempt to find some sort of comfort.

  A patch of warmth rested against the bare skin of his stomach. It created the most delightful pressure as it worked in soothing circles, fingers stroking, nails slightly scraping every so often to make him shiver. Mads melted into the touch. It was only the constant, sturdy presence at his spine that kept him from crumbling onto his back.

  It took a lot longer than it should have for his mind to follow the stimuli to its natural conclusion. Someone was in his bed. His eyes snapped open. Ice flooded his veins. Someone was in his bed, pressed so tightly behind him that he could feel the delightful pressure of breasts moulding to his spine. The skin of her legs, tangled with his, shifted against him in a wondrous pull of silk.

  A contented sigh left Mads as he surrendered to the sensations. It turned the savage waves within his head into a sweetly ripping lake. He let himself drift, toying with the edges of sleep but never able to fully wrap them around himself again. Despite his best efforts, reality seeped back in and he couldn’t put off the knowledge any longer. He had no idea who was in bed with him.

  As soon as that bit of knowledge settled into his head, Mads’ discomfort grew. There was a stranger in his house, in his room, in his bed, sleeping against his spine. His paranoia built up until he had to know who it was. Eventually, he had to turn.

  The attempted movement was met with a wave of nausea and an understandable struggle against his bedsheets. His guest shifted against him and twisted her fingers against his chest in protest. The blackout curtains were doing their job, keeping the room in a perpetual night even as the sun rose behind them. Mads’ brain wasn’t up to taking in anything as a whole.

  The first thing to register was a tangled mass of long, black, corkscrew curls. They fanned out over his pillows in a dark halo and he let his eyelids slide close. The evidence was becoming far too plentiful for him to comfortably ignore. His attraction to Willow Miller wasn’t exactly unknown to him. There was admittedly a lot about her to admire and respect. But to drunkenly select a woman with hair that so closely resembled her own seemed to be crossing a line that he really shouldn’t have even ventured towards.

  Mads’ stomach churned and his head throbbed. It was hardly the time for self-revelations. He barely had the strength right now to face the consequences of his actions. Keeping his eyes closed, he pulled in a few deep, calming breaths. He stifled a groan. Of course. The stranger just had to smell like her too.

  When they had first met, Willow had favoured a cheap and childish perfume. Something that smelled more of chemicals than it had of the grapefruit it was supposed to impersonate. He had questioned her about it, only to discover that it had been a present from her little niece and she’d felt obligated to use it. So, at the first opportunity, he had selected something far more appropriate and had gifted it to her. It was light, with rose and freesia, an undercurrent of wood to keep it from it being childish, and the slightest hint of ginger to sharpen the effect. Since he saw Willow on a far more regular basis than her niece did, she had apparently felt compelled to wear it until it became habit. Over the years Mads had kept her well supplied and he had yet to grow tired of the fragrance. If anything, it had swiftly become his favorite.

  Through the twisted mess of his mind, the implications occurred to him. With the combination of the woman’s hair, perfume, and his inebriation, it would be easy for him to believe the woman beside him was Willow. The hazy remains of memories bubbled up from the deep recesses of his mind. Warm touches. Questing fingers. Lips and tongue playing with each other, wanton and eager. The memories of pleasure were like the shadows of a dream. There, but not. A taunting whisper of what could have been.

  “Do you need an aspirin?”

  Mads’ eyes shot open and he snapped towards the voice. His head protested the sudden movement and he had an increasing urge to vomit, all of which he tapered down in favor of gaping at Willow and trying to understand. The memories grew more numerous, but no more defined. It seemed a fitting addition to his current life that, when finally presented with the opportunity to indulge his growing fascination with her body, he wouldn’t remember any of it.

  Willow raised her eyebrows. “Mads? You okay? Do you need the bucket?”

  He couldn’t connect all of his thoughts into say anything beyond her name. She smiled awkwardly.

  “I’m going to get you the bucket,” she said hurriedly.

  Without thought, Mads’ snapped his hand out to grab her wrist, keeping her from getting up.

  “No.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

  His stomach gave a violent lurch before he could assure her that he was fine. Swallowing hard to fend off the urge to vomit, he winced.

  “Maybe it would be better to fetch it.”

  “I can do that,” Willow said, but didn’t move. “You have to let me go, Mads.”

  “Of course. Apologies.”

  He released her wrist to clamp it over his mouth. A pained groan worked its way out of his
throat. It made Willow move all the faster, shaking the bed in her haste and making Mads’ stomach heave all the more. The second it was within reach, he snatched up the bucket and emptied the contents of his stomach into it.

  His cheeks burned with mortification, but now that he had started he couldn’t stop. His throat burned, his eyes watered, his stomach muscles worked until even breathing made him ache. He was sure that his next move would be the one that resulted in his skull finally shattering, bringing about his merciful death.

  Willow drifted away. Instantly, Mads’ felt both endlessly grateful and abandoned. He hugged the bucket closer, his skin burning uncomfortably under the cool, clammy sweat that dotted his flesh. When, at last, his stomach was empty, he carefully placed the bucket on the floor and inched back down into the mattress. The sheets felt overheated and rough, but being horizontal again was a marvelous delight.

  He was pondering if he had enough energy to end his suffering when he heard the door open. Cracking one eye open, his brow furrowed.

  “Willow?”

  “You really like my name when you’re hungover,” she whispered with a smile.

  She had an array of items piled high in her arms and gently placed them on a nearby chair. It had never occurred to Mads that sheets could make so much noise. He groaned and tried to burrow into the sheets. Crouching down beside him, Willow gently placed a hand on his shoulder through the sheets.

  “Can you get up?”

  “Actually, I’m planning to die here. Very shortly, in fact.”

  “Well, before you do that …” Her delicately soft voice didn’t hide her amusement. “How about getting a little cleaned up first? At least a fresh pair of pajamas? Maybe wash your face?”

  He mustered a noncommittal groan. The notion of feeling somewhat hygienic again was tempting. Getting up was not. Unfortunately, the need to use the restroom decided the matter. Willow helped him to his feet and stayed by his side as he pitifully shuffled towards the bathroom. Her touch was delicate. Her whispered encouragements soothed the pounding within his head. It was far more sympathy than he deserved for his self-inflicted injuries, but he wasn’t going to shy away from it.