Always you

Chapter 9

The first thing Sasha felt was warmth. A soft, steady warmth that made her feel cocooned and safe. Slowly, her senses sharpened; she registered the familiar scent of cedar and something distinctly masculine. Her eyes fluttered open, and she was met with the sight of soft morning light filtering in through a window, casting golden rays across a room that wasn't hers.

As her head pulsed with a dull ache, the events of the previous night flickered through her mind in hazy fragments: the party, her argument with Rafe, her decision to drown it all with one too many drinks, the crowd of men pressing in on her, and then... Rafe. She remembered the calm strength of his hand as he guided her through the chaos, the steady comfort he offered her when she felt her lowest.

Turning her head slightly, she realized that Rafe was lying beside her. His arm was draped protectively over her, his face inches away, peaceful in sleep. For a long moment, she just watched him, taking in his dark lashes resting against his cheek, the slight stubble on his jawline, the relaxed curve of his lips. In sleep, all his guarded edges softened. Sasha's heart fluttered as she studied him, a gentle ache forming in her chest. She liked him—a lot more than she had admitted to herself.

But then, as her awareness sharpened, she felt something else—her stomach churning, a wave of nausea rolling through her. She bit her lip, trying not to disturb Rafe as she shifted slightly, but the movement must have woken him, because his eyes fluttered open.

"Sasha?" His voice was groggy, soft, as he focused on her. The sleepiness in his gaze cleared, replaced by a gentle concern. "Hey... how are you feeling?"

Sasha managed a weak smile, though it quickly turned into a grimace. "Honestly? I feel pretty terrible."

Rafe chuckled softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face. "That's probably to be expected, considering how much you had to drink last night."

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Don't remind me. I was a mess. I didn't mean for you to have to... well, to take care of me all night."

"Sasha, stop," he said, his tone serious but kind. "You didn't make me do anything. I was just glad I could be there. You were..." He hesitated, his gaze darkening slightly as he remembered. "You were in a rough spot."

Sasha's stomach flipped again, this time for more than one reason. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Really. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there."

Rafe's expression softened, and he wrapped his arm more securely around her, pulling her close. She let herself sink into the embrace, her heart pounding at the warmth of his chest against her cheek. He felt safe—solid, like he could protect her from anything. Her mind was still foggy, but she knew without a doubt that she wanted to stay like this, in his arms, just a little while longer.

But the nausea building inside her wouldn't allow her that luxury. She felt her stomach lurch, and she pulled away from him, clamping a hand over her mouth as she sat up.

Rafe sat up quickly, catching her worried expression. "Are you going to be sick?"

Sasha managed a nod, and before she could fully comprehend what was happening, Rafe was on his feet, helping her out of bed and guiding her to the attached bathroom. She barely made it in time, collapsing beside the toilet as another wave of nausea hit. Rafe held her hair back gently, his hand a steadying presence on her back as she leaned over the toilet, her whole body wracked with queasiness.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were Sasha's quiet retching and Rafe's soothing murmurs as he rubbed her back in small, comforting circles. She could feel the embarrassment seeping into her, but Rafe's calm demeanor eased some of her self-consciousness. He didn't look disgusted or annoyed; if anything, he seemed only more concerned.