She stared at the door.
Come on, Kate, you have to get it over with.
She pressed the doorbell, feeling awkward as hell. She fully expected Rust to come to the door and tell her to ‘go away’.
But no one answered.
After a beat, she rang the doorbell again. She pressed her ear to the door to listen for sounds of footsteps. When no one answered after a while, she became alarmed. After all, how much did she really know about Rust? Was he depressive? He was damaged, for sure, and very dominant. But how much of his actual psychological makeup did she really know? He wouldn’t want to hurt himself, would he?
“Rust?” she called in a frightened voice.
She knocked on the door.
“Rust? It’s Kate. Are you OK?”
When still no one answered, she tried the doorknob. To her surprise, it opened.
She stepped in, feeling ill at ease.
“Rust?”
The hallway was not lighted. She closed the door lightly behind her and went in.
“Rust? It’s me, Kate. I’ve come to see if you’re all right.”
Still no answer. She was starting to get really worried now.
She opened the first door. “Rust?”
There was no one. Where would he be? Upstairs in his bedroom?
In panic, she bolted upstairs to Rust’s bedroom. She fully expected to see him injured – maybe even dead in suicidal apathy.
But Rust wasn’t in his bedroom. The bathroom door was ajar and she heard the sound of water taps running. She rushed in, only to find Rust in a bathtub with the water over-running and spilling to the floor. Rust was naked and his head was slumped against the bathtub’s marble wall.
“Rust!”
She sped to him. He was still breathing, though unaware. She shook his body and his head lolled.
“Rust?”
She caught sight of the empty vodka bottle on the floor by the bathtub. So he had drunk himself into a stupor. Very smart. She was so glad he hadn’t completely passed out and sunk into the water, dousing his head. He could have drowned that way.
She grabbed his head. “Rust. Wake up. Please.”
His breathing was steady, and for a while, she debated whether or not to call 911. Then his eyelids flickered and he slowly opened his eyes.
“What’re you doing here?” His voice was slurred.
“Rust, you could have drowned. I’m going to get you out of here, but you’re heavy and you’ve got to help me.”
Not caring if she got wet, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tried to haul him up. She was right. He was deadweight.
“Please, Rust, can you try to stand?”
He groaned, but he did try to comply. Together, with much effort, they made it out of the bathtub without either of them slipping and cracking their skull on the marble. He dripped water all over the tiles and onto the carpet as they went to his bed. She let him go and he fell onto the mattress with a thud.
I’m not going to be a nag, she decided, though she was worried as hell. She swung his legs onto the bed and covered him up with his blanket. His still impressive cock was flaccid.
“Have you taken anything else?” she asked. “Drugs? Medicine?”
He groaned again. “I had a headache, so maybe I took Tylenol. I’m not sure.”
“Well, don’t take anything else. I’m going to get you some water so you don’t get dehydrated.”
To her surprise, he didn’t say anything to stop her. So she went downstairs and took a flask of water. When she returned, he was looking at her out of narrowed eyes.
“Drink this,” she said crisply.
She helped him sit up and dribbled water into his half-open mouth. He did not protest. Men. So the super-alpha Rust O’Brien liked being babied as well. When he had finished half the flask, he shook his head and leaned back into his pillow.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re OK. You had me worried for a sec.” Maybe more than a sec.
He reached for her hand and gripped it. “I’ll be OK.”
“I’m sorry for what they did to you.” Her outrage bubbled again to her throat. “I’ll bet it’s Carlo. I – ”
“It’s not Carlo. But I’ll reckon he put her up to it.”
“Who?”
He told her. She listened, the dismay and rage sinking in.
“Fiona Montgomery?” It was a knife in her chest. “But why?”
“Because I didn’t want to have sex with her.” His green eyes held hers. “I won’t be blackmailed by anyone.”
The way he said it could be interpreted as a warning to her as well. A lump came to her throat as she remembered – in her moment of irrationality – how she had stopped taking the pill because she wanted to have his baby.