She lay there, stunned for a moment, realizing the stupidity of her action. She couldn’t distinguish whether she was still drunk or asleep, but the room began to spin and the tequila rapidly rose in her throat. Lacking the energy or balance to pull herself back onto the couch, she instead crawled to the nearest wall and sat herself against it. The nausea was steadily increasing, and she was losing the fight to keep the fluid down. In a last-ditch effort, she held up the knife still clutched in her hand and lost herself in its gleaming steel. Nothing could calm her quicker than her razor-sharp security blanket. It was her lifeline. Her stomach settled as her fingers slowly rolled the knife, casting flickers of reflected light throughout the room.
She was so captivated by the light show, that she didn’t even hear the first knock on the door. The second knock rang slightly clearer, and by the third, she had risen and was on her way to uncover its source.
It didn’t occur to her that it was 3 a.m. and quite late—or early—for a visitor. Hoping it was Lexy, coming over to accept her apology, she quickened her pace toward the door, still grasping the oversized chef knife in her fist.
She swung the door open and her jaw dropped. The color drained from her face.
“I don’t believe it.”
Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been thrilled to see such a gorgeous hunk of a man standing at her door at three in the morning. Not this time. Clad in blue jeans and a white dress shirt, Andrew Donovan’s attire was casual but sexy. The black waves of his hair danced as the early morning breeze picked up. His blue eyes sparkled, but at the same time, were as cold as ice. They didn’t coordinate with the blinding ear-to-ear smile he had planted on his face.