Viridian (The Hundred-Days Series Book 2) by Baird Wells Page B

chest, but she swatted it away. “Soon enough. Let me set the work room to
rights and then I'll be up.” Truthfully, she had every intention of sleeping on
the parlor sofa. It would afford her space, a night to think, and would settle
her mind. Lying side-by-side with Ty would do nothing for her clarity, but he
didn't need to know that. And he wouldn't; gin would work its magic and he
would never be the wiser.
    “Olivia.” She was nearly through
the door when his voice stopped her, turning her back. “Thank you.”
    She smiled, reaching for the knob.
“You're of no use to me dead.”
     
    *          *          *
     
    He was dying, that was the only
explanation. Joints throbbed, his side felt raw and swollen. A tearing pain
between his temples would split his head any moment now. Ty wasn't opposed to
it. He just wished it would hurry up and happen.
    “Oh, gin,” he muttered to the
silent room. “You seduce me and steal all my money.”
    Wincing at the taste of his own
breath, he inhaled again and forced himself up the mattress with trembling
arms, coming to rest against the headboard. When he finally managed his eyes
open, he became aware of something wonderful: the dark blue linen curtains were
drawn tight, steeping the room in cool shadows against midday sun. The window
was open and a breeze fluttered the drapes and slipped beneath, its breath
fanning his cheek. A smell tickled his nose on the next gust. Stiff necked, he
turned his head incrementally to get a look at the side table. A plain blue and
white porcelain tray offered up a little cup and silver chocolate pot, steam
whispering out of the spout. One thick slice of coarse bread, toasted golden,
sat cut and buttered beside its counterparts. On the tray's edge perched a
little glass jar half full of water, beside a spoon whose bowl heaped with
white powder. Soda ash, for the headache. That, or Olivia was finally done with
him. He managed a smile.
    Rolling over, he intended to put
the table in reach and then stopped, aching, out of steam and run aground on
the pillows. Just a moment . He just needed a few breaths in order to
rally. Giving up, he sank into the bedding.
    Vanilla . Olivia's perfume
washed over him, with a hint of the cream she used before bed. Honey or amber?
It didn't matter. His body was already tightening, heart hammering against an
anvil in his head. He slid arms up into the cool space between her cotton
pillow sham and the sheet, drawing himself deeper into her scent. Her lips were
firm for being so full; he remembered that surprise very well. When
they'd embraced, their bodies had fit together better than with any woman he'd
known before. Groaning, he thumbed a button on his breeches, body well ahead of
his brain.
    “Tyler?”
    He started at Olivia's voice
drifting through the door, and grabbed his burning side. If his thoughts had
summoned her, he wished that power away.
    The door opened. He snapped his
eyes from the narrow shaft of light until Olivia had closed it again, then
faced her. Dammit all, couldn't she just once look plain? Particularly
now, when he was struggling to push temptation away. Simple oatmeal muslin
covered her wrist to ankle, golden tresses a tidy pile at the back of her head,
and still she was breathtaking.
    She settled beside him on the bed
and picked up the jar, whisking in the soda ash. “Major Burrell, how are you
feeling today?”
    He didn't miss a wry bent to her
words. “Predictably.”
    “Mm. Start with this.” She pressed
the jar into his palm, fingers brushing his knuckles.
    Uncomfortable aching. That
described him now, head to foot, and her touch was not helping. He knocked back
the liquid, hoping it would take the edge off.
    “Here,” she winced, managing some
steaming chocolate and passing him the cup.
    It didn't turn his guts; in fact,
it smelled delicious. Olivia, it seemed, was full of surprises. “Did you make
this?”
    “I did.” She beamed, folding hands
in her lap. “And