Page 7 of Secured By the Buyer
“What are you doing in here–” my words slur to a stop as darkness swallows me whole.
3
Adelicious, intoxicating scent draws me back to consciousness, and I groan, nuzzling the warm skin beneath my nose in search of more.
A rumble vibrates through my chest, melting my bones, and I mouth at the throat so close to my lips, wanting to discover what flavor belongs with these pheromones.
Gentle fingers massage the back of my neck, above my nape guard, while a deep voice murmurs, “I like the way you smell, too, sweetness, but I need you to sit back and drink some water.”
Startled by the sudden realization my face is buried against a man—no, anAlpha—I rear upright in alarm, and the room tilts around me.
A hand steadies me on the shoulder, and an attractive, black-haired man swims into focus. A thick beard covers the bottom of his face, obscuring his upper lip, and his long bangs brush the top of a pair of chunky glasses.
Blue eyes sweep over my face before he presses a water bottle to my lips. “Think you can drink?”
Suspicion kicks in, and I turn my head away as it registers that I’m still in the hourly rental room, sitting on the edge of the bed. Panic rising, I scramble to my feet, only to sway as the room tilts.
The man catches me, drawing me back down to sit and directing my head between my knees. “Take deep breaths. Try not to pass out again.”
Horror fills me as I breathe in decades of shit built up from the shoddy ventilation in the room. I push him away, covering my nose and mouth, only for the unpleasant squeak of rubber to slide over my skin.
I jerk my hand away, bile rising when I see the glove on my hand. I’ve cleaned these rooms. I know what kind of nasty filth the carpets hide, and I was touching it before I passed out. At least I hadn’t scrubbed the toilet yet.
My stomach churns at the thought, and I groan, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
He pushes my bangs back from my sweaty forehead, concern etched on his face. “Are you all right?”
I try to steady my breathing, to choke down the bile, but… “No.”
He shoves a metal trash can onto my lap, and I clutch it as I retch, my body shaking with the effort. Acid burns my throat, but nothing solid comes up.
When I stop heaving, the man offers the water bottle again, the plastic cold against my flushed face. “Here, this will help.”
Cheek rolling on the cool rim, I turn my head to glare at him. “How do I know it’s not laced with something?”
He cocks his head to the side, studies me for a moment, then turns and strides to the minibar to grab an unopened one. Returning, he cracks the seal right in front of me and holds it out.
With reluctance, I take it from him, swishing the water in my mouth before spitting into the metal bin. What does it matter when I’ll be the one to clean it up?
“Where’s my mask?” I demand, thoughts still fixated on the filth circulating around us in the name of air conditioning.
“I took it off.” He tugs the trash can from mygrasp and sets it aside. “You looked like you were struggling to breathe.”
My eyes dart toward my cleaning cart, where a box of fresh masks sits on top.
To my surprise, the man walks over without being asked and brings the box back.
I tug out a mask and fit it over my nose and mouth, safer with the thin barrier between us.
The Alpha settles on the edge of the bed, leaving several feet separating us. “Do you need to go to a doctor?”
“I’m fine.” My eyes flicker from him to the door, calculating the distance and the obstacle he presents to my escape.
“Are you sure?” he presses, unconvinced. “Youdidlose consciousness.”
My spine stiffens at the reminder. “How long was I out?”
“Maybe five minutes.”