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Or maybe Barb wasn’t pregnant…yet. And she was hoping to rape Tate and get knocked up…then she’d have him on the hook for child support, becoming entrenched in his life for at least the next eighteen years.

Not happening on Laryn’s watch.

“Back off, bitch,” she growled, leaning toward Barb in a threatening manner. “He came with me, he’s leaving with me.”

“But you’re… fat !” Barb said almost incredulously.

“I’m curvy, not fat,” Laryn corrected. “And Tate doesn’t seem to mind my curves.

I know what you did,” she hissed with narrowed eyes.

“Drugging his drink. That’s fucking low.

Criminal . And I’m going to make sure you pay.

But first, I’m going to take him home and make sure whatever you gave Tate won’t fucking kill him. ”

“What? Me? I did no such thing!” Barb protested.

But Laryn could see the fear in her eyes.

“Back. Off,” she growled.

To her surprise, Barb took a step back.

In the short time it took for her to have that little conversation with Barb, Tate had sagged against her so much, she was practically holding him upright.

If she didn’t get him into his car, it was likely he’d fall to the ground right then and there.

And she had a feeling the last thing he’d want was for her to call an ambulance.

She wished his friends were still around.

She knew they’d kick themselves for not waiting until they were all safely in their cars to head out, after they heard what happened.

If she truly felt Tate’s life was in danger, Laryn wouldn’t hesitate to call an ambulance.

But she recognized a roofie victim when she saw one.

Her dad had explained the dangers of the drug to her when she was a teenager, and years later, she’d seen a woman pass out in a bar after getting dosed.

Thankfully, her friends had seen what happened and took her home before she could be taken advantage of.

Tate would wake up with a headache and no recollection of anything after taking that shot.

It was a good thing he had the next morning off.

Without another word to the fucking waitress, Laryn turned them toward the Taurus. She managed to get the passenger door open and deposit Tate inside. After she’d fastened his seat belt and shut the door, she looked back at where she’d last seen Barb, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

Vowing to contact the bar the next day and report what Barb had done, she went around to the driver’s side and shut the door. Still fuming, and pissed at herself for not speaking up before Tate had been drugged, she started the engine and headed for her apartment.

Getting Tate inside wasn’t easy. Thankfully, she didn’t need to call any of his friends to help. She still had plans to tell them so they wouldn’t fall victim to Barb’s shenanigans in the future—not that she’d be working there any longer, hopefully—but for now, all her attention was on Tate.

He stumbled up the stairs to her apartment with her at his side, holding onto him for dear life. She thought he was going to fall on his face when she had to let go of him for a moment to grab her keys out of her pocket and open the door, but thankfully he stayed upright.

The second she got him into her room—she didn’t have the heart to put him on the lumpy sofa—he fell face down onto her mattress. She managed to get his boots and socks off, but now came the hard part .

She planned to get him settled, then go into the other room to get some sleep—in between getting up to check on him every couple of hours, to make sure he was breathing and hadn’t thrown up or anything—but first she needed to get him on his back and farther up on the bed.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if his assistance was now done. She couldn’t exactly be upset about that, since he’d at least remained semi-conscious enough for her to get him up to her place.

Crawling onto her bed, she kneeled next to Tate and tried to push him onto his back. He didn’t budge.

“Damn,” she muttered. “I had no idea you were this heavy.” She was well aware he couldn’t hear her and wouldn’t respond, but talking to him made her feel better. “What now?” she asked, more to herself than to the unconscious pilot.

Leaning down, she put her lips by his ear. “Tate?” she said quietly.

Then, more loudly, “Tate!”

To her delight, he smacked his lips a little. Maybe there was still hope to get his help.

“Roll over!” she ordered.

To her astonishment, he did—except he rolled toward her, knocking her on her back. Before she knew what was happening, he’d snuggled against her, throwing an arm around her waist and burying his head between her boobs.

The tank top she was wearing wasn’t much of a barrier, and her nipples immediately hardened as he nuzzled closer.

“Tate?” she whispered, wanting to stay right where she was for the rest of her life.

He grunted in response and tightened his hold.

Closing her eyes, Laryn considered her options. She could stay where she was and slip out from under him once he fell completely asleep. Or she could do whatever was necessary to get out of this bed right now .

“Hot,” he mumbled, as he hitched a leg up over her thighs, further trapping her.

She was pretty sure he was telling her that his body temperature was hot, not that he thought she was hot…as in good-looking, sexy, beautiful. As much as she might want to think that, she wasn’t delusional.

In the next second, Tate rolled away from her and reached for the zipper on the front of his flight suit.

This was her chance to scoot off the bed and make her escape…

but Laryn was spellbound. She couldn’t take her eyes off his fingers as they made short work of unzipping the suit.

Then his motions were uncoordinated and clumsy, but somehow he still managed to get both shoulders out of the material and push it down to his hips in record time.

Tate’s chest was a work of art. He was so muscular, and she was transfixed by the freckles that did indeed cover his entire body.

His abs flexed as he struggled with the flight suit.

He wasn’t coordinated enough in his drugged state to push it completely over his hips, which was probably just as well, because what she could see of his underwear was enough to make Laryn’s heart rate spike.

The man was huge…down there. She’d felt him against her earlier tonight, but seeing a glimpse of his cock in those tighty-whities he’d mentioned made her lick her lips even as her mouth suddenly went dry.

He had those muscles along his hips that most women went gaga over, and Laryn realized she was no exception.

Before she could get her brain in gear, he rolled again, trapping her against the bed exactly as before with his arm and leg. He sighed in pleasure as he snuggled into her chest.

“Comfy,” he mumbled.

“Shit,” she whispered.

Then she stopped breathing altogether when his hand slipped under her tank top and slid its way up her body. The heat from his palm was scorching as he palmed her generous breast over her bra and made a contented noise in the back of his throat.

“Tate?” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“Tate?” she tried again, louder, hoping she’d be able to get through to him as she had earlier.

But it seemed that he was finally well and truly out.

She lay there staring at her ceiling, fighting with her conscience.

She should do whatever it took to get out from under him.

This wasn’t right. He had no idea what he was doing.

Consent was important to her—and to him too, from everything he’d said—and if she stayed where she was, she was no better than Barb.

Deep down, she knew that wasn’t true. She’d done what was necessary in order to keep Tate out of that bitch’s clutches.

But lying next to the man she’d admired…

and loved…for so long was torture. Especially with his lips so close to her nipples.

His hand covering her breast. His cock pressed up against her thigh as he nestled into her.

It was everything she’d ever dreamed about.

She knew he wasn’t aware of what he was doing.

She could literally be anyone, and he’d probably be doing the exact same thing.

But her heart didn’t want to listen to what her head was saying.

They were lying on top of the covers. Not that she was cold, not in the least, and she couldn’t get under them to pull up the comforter anyway.

And the lights in the room were still on, as she’d planned on getting Tate settled before heading out to the couch, but Laryn had never been more comfortable.

She’d just stay here for a moment longer. Wait until Tate was well and truly out, then she’d somehow slip out from under his grip and leave him to sleep off the drug. The morning was going to suck. She was going to have to tell him everything that happened .

Her eyes closed, and Laryn sighed. Lying under Tate was more comfortable than she’d imagined.

She loved that he was apparently a snuggler…

at least when he was unconscious. She wanted to stay awake, to soak in the moment because she was pretty sure after he woke up and figured out where he was and what was going on, he was going to be pissed.

But the day, and night, was catching up with her. The stress she’d been under with the flight trials, with Altan Osman threatening her, and after spending so much time with Tate was too much to overcome.

She was warm, comfortable, and…safe.

It was enough to have her falling into a deep sleep in moments.