All the Pretty Lies (Pretty #1)(59)
Author: M. Leighton

My hands find their way to the towel wrapped around his waist. I loosen it and let it fall, dragging my hand over his hip until I can curl my fingers around his rigid length. He groans into my mouth and I inhale it. I inhale him.

“Sloane,” he whispers, his hands hard and demanding, yet soft and giving on my body. With great care, he peels my shirt off, then my skirt and panties, even bending to slip my sandals from my feet. When he straightens, he backs up and lets his eyes wander my naked frame. “You are so beautiful. And you’re all mine. Always. All mine.”

He showers me with kisses. Everywhere from my neck to my navel, I feel them like butterfly wings grazing me. So light, so sweet, so far, far away. “Your skin is so hot,” he breathes against me. “You’re burning up.”

I hear his voice like he’s a million miles from me, speaking to me from the edge of paradise as I wade through warm waters to reach him. I even hear the urgency in his voice. I don’t really understand it, but I hear it.

“Sloane, look at me.” I try, but my eyelids won’t obey. And then I feel the world dip and I’m falling. But, just like I’d hoped, Hemi’s arms are there to catch me. He’ll keep me safe. For as long as I have left, he’ll keep me safe.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR – Hemi

“Sloane!” I yell, my voice having grown louder the longer she goes without responding to me. She just fell in my arms, boneless and limp. Her cheeks are flushed and there’s a fine sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Her skin is hot to the touch. She’s burning up with fever. “Sloane, answer me!”

I lower her gently to the floor and she moans. And not a good moan, but one of discomfort. Her brow furrows, letting me know she’s in pain. Or that something is wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

I scramble for my phone, dialing 911. It’s all I know to do. I don’t know what happened. One minute she was with me, the next she wasn’t.

I give them my emergency and my address, and then I call the guard to let him know they’re coming. I scoop Sloane up into my arms and carry her to the couch, running back for her clothes and getting them back on her as quickly and gently as I can. Even after manipulating her arms and legs, after lifting her upper then lower body off the couch to redress her, she doesn’t stir. She just turns her head from side to side, her brow still wrinkled as she pants, short, shallow breaths.

I bolt up the stairs to grab some jeans and a shirt, taking them back downstairs to dress beside Sloane so I can keep an eye on her. I’m just pulling on my shoes near the door when I hear the diesel engine of the ambulance as it pulls into my driveway. I open the door and wait, half in-half out so I can watch Sloane until they can get inside.

The EMTs rush in, carrying their stretcher and a bag of supplies between them. Both are in their forties, I’d say. Both look serious and competent, which makes me feel better.

“Sir, can you tell me what happened?”

“She just collapsed in my arms and now she won’t respond. Her skin is hot, like she’s feverish. Other than that, I don’t know what happened.”

I feel an unhealthy fear gnawing at my gut. I can’t lose her. Not now. Not like this. Not when there’s still so much I want to say, so much I want to show her and prove to her.

My heart is thundering inside my chest when they set to work on her and can’t get a response either. “What’s her name, sir?”

“Sloane.”

“Sloane!” he calls loudly. “Sloane, can you open your eyes and look at me?”

Nothing. No flutter of her eyelids, no turn of her head, no movement of her lips. Just nothing.

One EMT sets his stethoscope on her chest while the other takes her hand and presses his fingernail into the cuticle of hers. She doesn’t even twitch. They mutter back and forth to each other with their findings. One questions me as they transfer her onto the stretcher they carried in.

“Has she been drinking?”

“No, sir, not that I know of.”

“Does she take any medications?”

“Only birth control that I know of.”

“Is she allergic to anything?”

I shrug and shake my head, feeling so helpless. “Not that I know of, but…”

He nods, making notes on the paper pinned to his clipboard. “Sir, we’re gonna take her to the ER. She’s out, but her vitals are stable right now. You’re welcome to ride with us if you want.”

“Yes, I would, actually.”

“Are you a family member? Or is there an emergency contact who should be notified to meet us at the hospital?”

“I’m not…no, I’m not family, but I can use her phone to contact her father on the way.”

“Sounds good. If you’ll do that, we’ll get her in the squad.”

With that, the two EMTs lift Sloane, the legs of the stretcher extending so that they can roll her out the door and down the walk. Since Sloane didn’t bring a purse in, I run to her car, grabbing it from the back seat and running back to the ambulance to jump in the back with her.

I see her phone the instant I open her purse. It’s in a little pocket on the side, obviously designed to hold a phone. I take it out and scroll through her contacts until I find her father’s information. I tap his cell number and listen to it ring as the EMT cleans off her hand to start an IV.

As the large needle pierces her skin, I watch her face for signs that she felt the prick. She doesn’t move a muscle. My stomach sinks like I swallowed a handful of rocks.

“Locke,” I hear on the other end of the phone, distracting me from Sloane’s still form.

“Mr. Locke, Hemi Spencer. Sloane came to see me at my house tonight. She collapsed. I’m in the ambulance with her now and we’re on the way to the emergency room. Can you meet us there?”

There’s a pause, during which I’m sure Sloane’s dad is processing my information dump. I didn’t beat around the bush. I’m not that kind of man and neither is he.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks. His voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear him. Fear is evident, which makes me even more apprehensive.

“I don’t know. She’s flushed and sweaty, and her skin is hot like she’s got a fever. She seemed fine otherwise. But now she won’t respond. I don’t know… I just…”

Words escape me as I relate to him what little I know. It’s the most horrible feeling in the world—to be so helpless. And so scared. What could be wrong that she’d just fall out like that? And not respond? It’s more than just fainting. That much is obvious.