Reluctant thief Baz Barret is tasked with stealing from the formidable archaeologist Rei Collingwood--who happens to also be his college crush and rival--but when Rei goes missing after the burglary, Baz must find her before he's blamed for her disa...
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Baz woke with a headache and without clothes.
Next to him, still tangled in the Egyptian cotton sheets, Gwen sat bolt upright.
Somewhere, a phone was going off.
Baz blinked the sleep out of his eyes, groping haphazardly under the pillows.
Gwen found the source first, pressing her phone to her ear while clutching the sheets to her chest.
Her face paled, her normally controlled expression faltering. It wasn't good news. In Baz's experience, any news that came first thing in the morning was bad.
"I'll be there," Gwen said. She hung up, letting the phone drop to the mattress.
"What happened?" Baz dared ask. A dull throbbing beat against the inside of his skull, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the look on Gwen's face.
"It's my father. I need to get to the hospital," Gwen said.
Baz straightened up. "Gwen, I'm sorry."
"You don't need to be sorry," Gwen said. She slipped out of bed, throwing open dresser drawers.
Baz didn't have the luxury of fresh clothes, but he found what articles managed to make it into the bedroom...which were scant, but better than nothing. He had very little interest in having a conversation about Gwen's sick father while nude.
It was hardly a conversation. Gwen marched around the room, putting on a conservative dress before shutting herself in the bathroom. No experiences waking up in bedrooms that weren't his went quite like this. Did he stay to comfort her? Did he call himself a cab and let her be?
Even if Baz had miraculously had an identical experience, Gwen was a wildcard. She as of yet hadn't reacted to anything the way he might expect. The best he could do was finish getting dressed, then figure out the next move from there.
Baz found his shirt and his jeans in the sitting room, accompanied by empty wine glasses and the bottle. Behind the splitting headache, there were foggy memories. What had he told her? What had she said?
What had been cathartic at the time did not help his position.
He fished himself a glass of water from the kitchen, managed to find his phone and wallet in the sitting room, and waited for Gwen.
She stepped into the room, the previous night's makeup removed for new red lipstick and mascara.
"Are you coming or not?" Gwen asked.
Baz stilled, searching her face for what need she could possibly have for him. She didn't look traditionally upset in a way that required comfort. It more closely resembled annoyance, or thinly veiled anger. Pain could be deceptive that way. Gwen didn't strike him as the type to cry. Maybe wanting to was enough to frustrate her.
