Page 34 of Whatever Lola Wants (Odyssey #2)

He took in the details at a glance. About five feet, six inches tall, she was a rose-skinned, fair-haired, blue-eyed dream.

She was curvy, her lush body displayed in a light blue dress.

Her legs were long, narrow feet tucked into summer sandals that showed off toes painted pale pink.

Her honey blonde hair was short and shaggy, framing a spectacular face and leaving the elegant length of her neck bare.

The dress had a square bodice that displayed a generous amount of cleavage and left her arms bare.

She had a straw and leather purse slung over her right shoulder that complimented the breezy summer look of the dress and sandals.

Over the other shoulder she had another purse, this one a bright red, and at her feet sat a leather weekend bag.

Interesting.

Michael offered a calming smile. “ I’m Michael O’Riley , Miss …?”

She ignored the prompt, instead treating him to the same once over he’d given her. “ Good ,” was all she said. “ I need to find Simon Hastings . Can you go get him?”

Michael frowned. Simon had said nothing about a new woman, much less one unhinged enough to track him down at the club.

“ I’m afraid I don’t know any Simon Hastings ,” he said.

Odyssey offered its members complete privacy and anonymity—both he and his staff would refuse to even acknowledge they knew a member’s name.

Her blue eyes narrowed. “ Bullshit . I know you’ve heard of him and I know he’s here. Go . Get . Him .”

Michael felt his temper strain. “ Miss , I don’t know who you are, but I assure you, there’s no one here by that name, and?—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she exploded. “ I’m not some deranged bitch trying to track a random fuck, asshole. I’m Lola’s friend.”

“Lola?”

“Yeah, and Anna ? You know her, too,” the blonde said.

“ Lola asked me to find Simon . He’s not answering his cell phone, and she said he’d be here, but the number listed for Odyssey just goes to voicemail, and I hauled my ass all the way over here when I should be at the hospital, and I’m not leaving until I talk to him. ”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “ Axe ,” he said without taking his eyes off the blonde, “would you call into the bar and ask Skip to have Simon join us?”

Relief sparkled in her blue eyes as Axe picked up the phone, and she drew a shuddering breath. “ Thank you.”

Michael nodded, frowning at the way her hands were shaking. “ Can I get you anything? Some water?”

“No, I’m okay.” Now that she wasn’t yelling at him, he could see the signs of her distress. Her hands were twisting the strap of the red leather purse, her breath coming in uneven jerks.

The door opened behind her and a group of members came in, laughing and talking.

Michael laid a hand on her elbow, intending to draw her aside, but she flinched so hard at the touch of his hand that he immediately dropped it.

“ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice calm. “ But you’re blocking the entrance.”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him, bemusement taking the place of fury in her remarkable eyes. “ Sorry . It’s been an eventful night.”

“It’s quite all right.” He gestured with one hand, pleased when she stepped in the direction he indicated. “ Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“No, but thank you.” She drew a deep breath. “ I’m sorry about all the yelling.”

Polite, apologetic, and follows direction. Well , well. He let his smile warm, and noted the corresponding widening of her eyes. “ Perhaps you’ll tell me what precipitated ‘all the yelling’” he began, then broke off when the lobby doors opened and Simon walked through.

“Michael?” Simon was frowning. “ Skip said you needed…” his gaze flicked to the blonde, and Michael saw the jolt of recognition. “ Ginger ?”

She sagged with relief. “ Oh , thank God .”

“What are you doing here?”

Michael’s gaze flickered over Simon’s face. Confusion , but no hostility. Whatever was the matter, he wasn’t displeased to find her here, merely baffled as to why.

The blonde— Ginger —sucked in a breath. “ Lola’s been in an accident.”

Simon all but leapt forward. “ What do you mean, an accident? Is she all right? Where is she?”

Ginger shook her head. “ She was in a ride share, coming here, and this truck—he ran the red light.” She swallowed, her throat flexing.

“ She didn’t have her seatbelt on, and she was bleeding, but she was talking.

She knew who I was, and she was conscious at first. Then she kept going in and out.

She told the EMTs to tell me to find you. ”

Simon’s face had gone ashen. “ Where is she?”

“They said they were taking her to the ER . Northwestern .”

* * *

Lola woke up in the ER with some sadistic prick with ‘doctor’ in front of his name shining a light in her eyes. He said he considered her muttered “fuck off” to be entirely appropriate and a good sign that her sense of humor was intact.

After that, it just went downhill.

She was examined, poked, prodded, x-rayed, sent for a CT scan, and examined again.

They determined she didn’t have a neck or spine injury, so she’d thankfully been able to shed the protective collar.

But after her injuries had been determined to be non-life threatening, the medical personal had moved on to their next customer and left her on a gurney behind a hastily drawn curtain to await further assessment.

And since they’d cut off her clothes and given her a single thin blanket, she was freezing. And her head fucking hurt.

The curtain twitched open with a metallic zing and Doctor Bright Lights stepped in with a smile.

“Well, Ms . Wright . How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been in a car accident,” she replied.

“Funny,” He snapped on a pair of gloves and placed gentle fingers on her head. “ Your head CT came back normal,” he said and carefully pried up the temporary dressing covering the cut on her forehead.

She tried to concentrate over the throbbing in her skull. “ That’s good, right?”

“Mmm.” He poked at the edges of the cut. “ However , you did lose consciousness for several minutes, and the EMTs said you vomited in the ambulance.”

She grimaced. “ Yeah .”

“Combined with the fuzzy vision you’ve been experiencing?—”

“It’s better,” she interjected.

He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “—we’re concerned about a concussion. We’d like to keep you overnight, just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, but I don’t want?—”

She broke off at the sound of footsteps. The curtain whipped back, and Simon stepped in.

“Simon,” she managed, so happy to see him she nearly burst into tears, and held out a shaking hand.

He grabbed it and stepped to the side of the bed, his eyes fierce as they took her in. “ Jesus . You look like you’ve been in a knife fight.”

She didn’t have the energy to laugh. “ That’s what Ginger said.”

He pressed his lips to her palm. “ Are you okay?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, shifting his attention to the doctor who, until this point, he’d ignored. “ Is she okay?”

The doc beamed his sunshine smile. “ She will be. Her x-rays are clear, and except for the cut on her head and a bruise on her thigh that looks like it’ll be a beaut, everything’s minor.”

Simon nodded, brushing a careful hand over her hair, his eyes trained on her face. “ Concussion ?” he asked, and the doctor nodded.

“We’d like to keep her overnight, for observation,” he began.

“I want to go home,” she said and turned pleading eyes on Simon . “ Really , I’ll be?—"

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, cutting her off. “ You’re staying,” he told her, his tone implacable. “ You don’t want to take chances with a head injury, sweetheart.”

She closed her eyes on a sigh, too tired and in too much pain to fight. “ Fine .”

“Good,” the doctor said. “ Now that’s settled, let’s see about getting you stitched up.” He looked around with a frown. “ I need a suture kit.”

He strode out, calling for a nurse.

Simon leaned over the gurney, brushing at her temple. “ You’re covered in blood.”

She chuckled weakly. “ Flirt .”

His lips curved in a smile. “ With you? Always .”

She hitched in a breath. “ I’m so glad you’re here.”

He pressed his lips to her hand again. “ Me too.”

He held her hand while they sewed her up, distracting her with the story of Ginger storming the club. Even through the laughter he could see the fatigue dragging at her, and the pain in her eyes every time she tried to move.

Having been through his share of accidents, he imagined every bump and bruise, no matter how minor, was making itself known.

When she shivered with cold, he nagged a nurse for extra blankets. When the doctor was finished stitching her up, he helped her dress in a set of scrubs; the doctor didn’t care what she wore, and he knew the clothes would make her feel better than a backless hospital gown.

He dampened some paper towels and, as gently as possible, cleaned the blood from her face and neck. Bruises were beginning to bloom, the result of her bouncing around in the back of the car like a pinball, and even though he was careful, he knew he hurt her.

They moved her to a room after a couple of hours, and he called Ginger to give her an update.

He assured her he would stay with Lola until she was discharged, and thanked her again for coming to get him.

At least, he thought with amusement, the crisis had pushed her past the embarrassment of stun gunning him mid-blowjob; he’d been certain she’d never look him in the eye again.

By the time he got back, they had her settled and had given her something for the worst of the pain.

He knew they’d be in to wake her every few hours and check her vital signs, so they wouldn’t sedate her heavily enough for her to sleep undisturbed.

Unfortunate , but the concussion protocol took priority over pain relief.

He spent the night in a chair by her bed.

She grumped and groused at the nurses every time they came in to check her, and every time he soothed her back to sleep with soft kisses and murmured reassurances.

She clung to his hand, reaching out silently for comfort even in sleep, and he gladly gave it.

When morning broke and her eyes opened, he was still sitting in the chair by the bed, holding her hand.