Stir Me (Rouse Me 2)

I whisper in her ear. "Go to sleep."

But she shakes her head and presses her body against mine. "If I'm asleep, I won't feel you holding me."

"I'll hold you anytime you want." I consider pushing it--reminding her how much easier it would be to hold her if she moved in--but I don't.

She turns back to me, a grin pasted on her face, and she presses her lips against mine.

"You can't see the TV like this," I say.

"I'll live."

Her lips find mine. It's soft and sweet, and there's no sense in arguing. This is exactly where we need to be. We stay like that for a while, our bodies tangled up on the bed, until her breath is heavy and slow.

"Okay," she mummers. "I'll sleep."

She shifts off the bed and stretches out. I take one last look at her--damn is she gorgeous--before hunting for the toothbrush in my overnight bag.

Then my phone rings.

I ignore it--who the hell could be calling this late?

But it keeps ringing.

I find the phone in the pocket of my slacks. It's probably a client. Or a client's angry spouse. Someone overeager, who'd think nothing of calling so late.

I don't recognize the number.

But the area code is 805.

That's a Santa Barbara area code.

Fuck. It can't be...

"Hello," I answer.

"May I speak to Luke Lawrence?" It's a male voice, and it's stupidly matter-of-fact.

I've heard that voice before. That's the I am going to relay this bad news to you like I'm ordering a sandwich voice.

"This is Luke."

"I'm calling from Santa Barbara Cottage Emergency Room."

No. This isn't happening. There's no way Samantha is...

The voice continues, so even and calm. "I'm sorry to call you, Mr. Lawrence, but you're Samantha Brooks's emergency contact."

My heart races. My mouth is sticky. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to discuss the specifics of the incident."

"Is she okay?"

"She's in the ER, and she's expected to be checked in for the night. Visiting hours start at nine a.m."

I can't hear anything except for the static on the phone. He won't tell me if she tried to kill herself again. He isn't at liberty to discuss it.

"You can ask for her room number at the visitor's desk." He pauses, as if to let it sink in that he's not allowed to tell me what happened to her. "Do you have any questions?"