“You fainted,” I say, trying to keep my voice soothing.
Her eyes narrow and she shoves my hand off her shoulder, her expression of disgust clear. Then she sits up, but she does so slowly. At least she isn’t trying to get up from the couch.
“You lied to me. You lied to me about everything.”
She’s very obviously not feeling well. Her skin is pale, and her breath is coming quickly as if she’s on the verge of a panic attack. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her or what she’s talking about, but maybe whatever made her faint is confusing her as well. Maybe I should be calling an ambulance, or at least driving her down to old Doc Collins. The man is technically retired, but he still sees my brothers and me when we need him. I’m sure he wouldn’t have any problem at all seeing the pretty little reporter on my couch if she’s losing her damn mind.
“Calm down, honey.” Touching her doesn’t seem like a good idea right now. But damned if I don’t want to. She smells positively delicious. Not like perfume, but something more natural and fruity.
Her gaze flashes at me and the anger in it keeps me from trying to reach out to pat her shoulder in comfort.
“Don’t you tell me to calm down. I get it, I wasn’t looking for a relationship either. But I wasn’t about to leave in the middle of the night like your rude ass.”
Damn me if she wasn’t acting sick at all. Maybe the woman is just fucking nuts. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but—”
“Listen here, asshole, I’ve heard enough from you. If you had any balls, you’d have already apologized.” Her eyes sparkle with angry fire. And for some reason her anger is making me fully hard.
Then her words hit me. Asshole? What the hell? How have I so greatly offended this woman in the five minutes since we’d met? “Where do you come off calling me—”
“I have every right in the world to call you whatever the hell I want to right now. I—” Her eyes widen, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s looking at something behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Clay. Of course, he’s here. No doubt drawn in by the noise. From behind him, Joshua comes into the room as well. His hair is messy and his glasses askew. We probably woke him up. Joshua gets up at the ass-crack of dawn every day. Clay tends to sleep in whenever he can, so I’m not surprised that he looks more together. Both of them look bewildered.
Jessa looks back and forth between my brothers, and then she looks back at me. Her mouth drops open, and she struggles to find words. But before she can say anything at all, her eyes roll back in her head, and she faints again.
Well, hell.
Chapter 3
Clay
I halt in midstep, almost stumbling. Shock reverberates through me. What the hell is she doing here?
I recognize her immediately, of course. Jessa Long. The sexy reporter I’d met in New York at a conference. Met, and slept with. The night we had together has been on my mind since I snuck out in the night. But I never expected to see her again in the flesh.
She doesn’t look much different than I remember. She’d been wearing a business casual style then, too—slacks and a button-up blouse with flat shoes. Not the type of woman or dress that would normally catch my attention. But I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off of her in that bar.
Behind me, Joshua almost runs right into my back. “The hell, Clay?”
“Jessa,” I mutter under my breath.
The stricken look on her face makes my heart twist in my chest. And when she faints, I rush toward her.
Ignoring Trey’s annoyed curse when I crowd him, I reach for Jessa. Thankfully, she merely slumps on the couch for a brief moment before her eyes flutter back open.
God, those beautiful brown eyes—so expressive. I’ll never forget how expressive they were that night—every touch had elicited such a reaction that I’d felt like I could have gotten addicted to touching her. My pants tighten uncomfortably, as I take in her angry gaze. She’s beautiful—as lovely as I remember. And here I’ve almost convinced myself that she couldn’t be that beautiful. That sexy.
But boy is she pissed.
“Xander?” Her voice is sharp enough to make me flinch. And I’ve never regretted a fake name as much as I do now. Why did I do that? Sure, I didn’t want to have to tell her my life story—and the Hollister name at an environmental conference was just famous enough to be recognized. But making up a name now seems more than a little immature.
“...the hell is going on here?” Trey asks from next to me.
“I was going to ask the same thing,” Joshua says, still behind me.
For a moment I don’t answer either of them, I look at Jessa. “How did you find me?”
I don’t ask why, I’m not sure I want to know. I mean, we had a hell of a night, but for a woman to track me down back to Wyoming? That’s some sort of horror-movie-level obsession. Good thing she doesn’t seem to be carrying a gun.
Instead of answering, she glares at me harder. Apparently, I asked the wrong question. Then she looks away from me, turning to Trey.