“I don’t know her size. I’d gander a guess that she’s a little taller and bigger than you.”

All-encompassing and dark, the formless void stingily allowed hearty but low whispers to penetrate Sabra’s awareness.

Someone spoke nearby.

The mysterious words pricked at her previously dormant thoughts. They snaked through Sabra’s fog of slumber and created a serpentine trail of curious attention.

The voice spoke again.

“Not going to happen. Why? Oh, let me see—because it’s creepy to take pics of her like this, not to mention an invasion of privacy.”

Sabra’s now piqued attention registered a brief silence. Then, more words transversed the gulf between her and the voice.

It continued, “That’s different, and you know it. All that was medically necessary.”

Her intrigue ignited to produce a hunger in Sabra to hear more. Robust and husky, the voice wove a spell that captured her interest as even more utterances emerged.

“You have the personal feminine items on your list too, right? She’s run out.” A momentary pause ensued. “Because she didn’t have enough with her. Why would I have something like that here? She needs a new supply.”

She? Were the words referring to her? What—no who—was this? And, where was she? A collage of questions threatened to yank Sabra in too many directions.

Swirling dream-infused fancies fought to reclaim their preeminence. Powerful tendrils of sleepiness won. The sensory dulling haze pulled Sabra back into the fog of subconsciousness.

Sometime later low rumbles of words pricked her awareness once more. Blank nothingness crumbled as new sounds sprang up. Impressive in the quality of their tone, the new words rolled in on clouds of mystery. Sabra compelled herself to listen, but the commitment was so hard. The pull of slumber fought her for every second.

A protracted pause swelled until her desire to hear the voice again fueled Sabra’s awareness. The endeavor was enough for her to concentrate on the search. When Sabra’s stamina to continue was near collapse, words drifted back in the nick of time. They were close enough for her to understand with minimal strain.

Deep and male, the voice was imbued with an intriguing combination of sincerity and power in its tonal makeup. Its mellow delivery still managed to project and speak with great authority.

The volume of his words rose a little as she heard him say, “Bron, don’t come. I can handle it. I have so far. Yes, really, I’m serious.” A heavy exhale of breath punctuated the words with great effect. “I’m fully capable of feeding her. Hah—and what exactly is Mac going to do? It’s my house, my call.”

Surprisingly, the voice didn’t sound angry or upset with the other person—determined merely to prevail.

If the pauses were any indication, his words were meant for someone whose voice she couldn’t make out. Whoever it was wasn’t in the mood for backing down or taking no for an answer. The point proved itself with the next set of words that bounded into the air.

“See here, I’m the medical professional—not you. Bronwyn, I swear, you’re not going to win this one.”

So, the other voice belonged to a woman. The revelation didn’t sit well with Sabra’s soul.

“Well, as you like to say, you’re doing the most—I’ve got this.” Paternal concerned wrapped itself around the words as they filled the air. Instead of producing acidic angry energy, the voice held admiration and respect for the listener as it continued to mount its defense. “I see. No… because you’ve already got your hands full, that’s why.”

Silence crowded in to quench the volley of word-based defenses he’d erected. One thing was clear. The voice wanted its recipient to obey his wishes. This Bronwyn was a formidable opponent. Success meandered and made the voice work hard.

The verdict wasn’t ready to give him the win—yet. Wasn’t that a bastard break if there ever was one?

Sabra’s interest grew as tiny threads of coherence slowly threaded themselves together.

Who was the other party? Who was this Bronwyn woman? Sabra’s ire rose at the person unwilling to give the voice whatever he wanted. Her instincts to help, support and back him up spiked as another heavy masculine breath exhaled in the distance.

How dare this—woman—deny him anything? Couldn’t she hear how sincere, dreamy, and sexy he was?

Petty jealousy crept into the void to fuel Sabra’s capacity for anger. An irrational sense of ownership pushed its way forward to stake claim on the voice.

Why?

Sabra’s subconscious churned. Her recollection failed to place the owner of the utterance. Contrary to this failure, there was a familiarity that enticed her to continue down the path of curiosity. In answer to her pursuit for more words, the disembodied voice spoke again through the void.

This time the voice infused mirth into its words as they formed questions. “How about this? Are you staying off your feet like I asked, huh?” The sound trailed off again.

Sabra strained to home in on the source. She had to know who this was. Then, he rewarded her pursuit when he spoke again. “Thanks, and yes, you keeping her for another day helps a lot.” There was reluctance in the vocalized wonder as it continued. “Yes, I agree. That would make things easier,” the voice halted as if interrupted. A pensive tone accompanied the next statement, “I see, well fine—we’ll switch out at school tomorrow.” More silence taunted her as Sabra strained to follow the voice through the void. “Do what you can to find something appropriate, but don’t overdo it,” the vocalization said in an authoritative tone.

Another pause interrupted the audible enchantment but not for long. The deep, rich timbre of that voice cut through the formless darkness to reclaim her attention.

“Because, they’re ruined,” it continued. An exhale of breath seemed to punch down frustration as the voice waited to speak. Concession, mingled with a last stand to wrangle out a bit of obedience, shrouded the next words. “You stay put—I mean it—and send Danny over with what you can put together, that is, if he has time, agrees, and Mac can spare him. … Please?”

It was the “please” on the end of the response that had her interest sensors straining for more of the voice’s addictive stimuli.

Elusive with the most appealing virile tone, that voice lulled her out of the dark. Consciousness crept closer as Sabra’s brain worked to come back online.

Her eyelids subdued their soreness enough to open in slits. Sabra continued to battle against the void. Her eyes contended with a murky film plastered over them. Once free of the ocular impediments, dim surroundings cloaked her in disoriented frustration. Unable to make sense of the visual input, her mind scrambled to investigate.

Who was that talking and where was she?

The next presence to make itself known was the sterile, chilly air. Absent was any hint of scents she’d been used to occupying her world. This air hung flat and discomforting as if trying to subjugate her to its bland, but disorienting will. The surroundings cast cool, foreign vibes. This place wasn’t her home or any place she’d ever been.

Sabra didn’t know much about anything at the moment, but she did know when she was on an accelerated path to losing it. A recall of what led to her current location yielded no results. It wouldn’t take much to send her into an impressive episode of tripping the hell out.

Determined to compile an inventory of events leading up to now, Sabra relaxed her eyes to close again. She concentrated on reconstructing her recent memories. There was Chloe antagonizing the hell out of her all day. Flashes of glitter streaked across her memories and intersected with all the wigs she needed to catalog and pack.

Dull but present enough to be a bother, a headache lurked along the edge of her understanding. Her eyes managed to open a little more. They hurt like sand was their primary resident. Wherever she was, it was too dark to make out much.

“Where am I?” she tried to ask.

Her throat might as well be rusty serrated blades grinding against each other for the pain and quality of sound she managed to generate.

“Hey, I need to go. I think she’s awake,” the male voice said.

Leaden and uncooperative her weak limbs attempted to move to no avail. Her body didn’t cooperate. Try as she might to assemble a workable understanding of where she was and how she came to be here, vague phantoms of flimsy recall scattered about.

Faint snatches of a familiar scent inched into her world. Imprinted on her senses like a primary recall trigger, the smell taunted her to know its origin and importance. Where did she know this fragrance signature? It boasted virility, power, optimal health, and vitality. Her compatibility receptors flared with a primal attraction, so intense Sabra fought back risqué bodily urges.

There was more at work beside the scent of this man. Her senses ignited to embrace the experience. Through the fuzziness of her world, Sabra followed the magnetic pull.

His presence both enticed and soothed her. He did her body better than the best elixir and modern medicines combined. Sabra’s body hummed with excitement as he neared. She wanted this man—a lot.

Hmm…

Memories strained to assemble themselves into a coherent story. She got nothing. Another attempt at moving awakened her bodily functions.

Her bladder woke in an uproar as it wailed for relief. An intention to go to the bathroom revealed her current status. Sabra was naked except for a… her hand brushed against what felt like—oh no—an adult diaper!

“Hello? Can you hear me?” she asked wishing she could produce more volume. “Hello… help?”

“Bria—I’m here. Don’t try to get up without my help,” the rich voice from before said.

Instead of fear invading her mind, the voice soothed and calmed. Her bladder’s needs receded to a manageable annoyance. She strained to see the figure coming closer. Her eyes hadn’t fully acclimated to focus in the low lighting of the room.

“I’m here. Please, take my hand.”

Powered by a leap of faith and a healthy dose of trust her hand propelled itself in the direction of the fuzzy form of maleness standing close.

The hand, warm and strong, didn’t tug or try to help her to sit up. It enveloped hers and placed a thumb on the web of her hand and an index finger on the pulse point of her wrist.

Familiar sensations of arousal slid over her memories and pulled his identity to the forefront.

Cole.

Her face took on a mind of its own and found the energy to stretch into what had to be a cheesy grin.

“Bria, do you know who I am?”

When she tried to nod that dull headache that had been lurking shot through her eyeballs.

“Ugh…” she heard her weaken voice say.

He came closer, and details of his face started to materialize.

“Bria, it’s me, Cole.”

She squeezed his hand to let him know she knew.

He continued to speak, “Good. Bria—you had a bad fall at your studio the other night. I had to work fast to address your injuries. Do you follow?”

This time she determined to speak. “Yes,” then with an inhale that scraped her throat, Sabra added, “thank you, but, where are we?” Warm lips placed a kiss on the back of her hand. Oh no, was she going to die? “Cole, what’s wrong? Am I going to be okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

She waited, prompting him to give her details.

Colson kissed her hand again. She loved the gesture but tensed from the possible meaning. Her “injuries” had to be worse than he was letting on.

“I had to bring you home.” He paused. When she remained quiet, he spoke up. “You hit your head twice and tore your hamstring. I gave you a light sedative to help you sleep. That is, I gave you the sedative after dressing your cut in the back of your head and putting a compression sleeve on your thigh.”

The compression made its presence known as she sensed the snugness of the garment on her upper leg.

“But am I going to die?” She couldn’t believe that tumbled out of her mouth.

The low throaty chuckled filled the dim space between them.

“No, dear one, you’re not going to die.” He motioned to her leg with a look before adding, “but you’ll be on crutches for a little while yet.”

“Crutches? Did I break my leg?”

He leaned in and peered deep into her eyes. Sabra wasn’t ready for the intense gesture. She found herself attempting to retreat into the bed.

“Bria, let me do a quick examination to make sure you’re good to sit up.”

He wasn’t fooling anyone with that. His look told her what she needed to know. Colson wasn’t sure she’d be all right.

To play along, she nodded and said, “Sure thing.”

He pulled out a pen from his back pocket and flicked a button. A pin light cut through the dark of the room like a lightsaber.

“Yes, that would be painful with the room like this,” he eyed the pin light and made a face. To her, he smiled enough for her to see genuine care reach his piercing gray eyes. “Hold on and let me bring the lighting up a bit.”

Ambient light washed away the dull dimness to clarify details around the room. She was in what looked like a hospital suite. Intimidating monitors flashed, a pole with fluids stood sentry next to her bed, and a bedside table next to where Colson stood displayed her personal effects.

Out of habit, Sabra attempted to reach over her body with her right hand to grab her phone. The quick movement induced a sharp, stinging pain. The IV held firm under the transparent tape that held it in place remained unbothered.

“Ouch!” She rubbed the spot on the back of her hand where the flesh around the needle continued to sting. “Why is there a needle in my hand?”

Kind, bright eyes the color of gleaming steel glided over her body to rest on the area where she cradled her hand.

“Because you needed fluids and nutrients to ward off dehydration. Plus, I needed to keep you sedated for at least a day to give your body enough time to repair itself.”

“Repair from my fall?”

“Yes, that and to make sure you didn’t have any lasting head or brain trauma.”

“Wow…” His words sunk in enough for Sabra to consider the magnitude of her fall. When he continued to stand at a respectable distance, she beckoned for him to come closer with a pat on the bed. “Please, come sit.”

He came close enough to touch her but didn’t sit.

“Are you ready for me to do a quick exam?” His voice was soft and comforting.

Sabra made the sting of rejection take a seat in the recesses of her mind. He looked to be in full-on doctor mode. No doctor she ever knew came and sat on the bed when they did an exam.

“Yes,” she couldn’t ignore her state of nudity. “Will I need to remove these bed sheets?”

“No, not at all. I need to check your pupil dilation and listen to a few inhales from your chest and back area before clearing you to move around.” He closed his eyes for a moment as if remembering something else. “Oh, and your clothes were ruined. I have asked for a few sets of clothes and some personal feminine items to be delivered. They should arrive soon. I had to guess at your size since your old clothes tags were too faded to see any sizing.”

Thank God for small favors. The last thing she wanted was for him to see the incriminating XL and XXL lettering that resided on most of her clothing.

Social graces reclaimed their place in her psyche.

“Cole, thank you for being so helpful. Looks like I’ve intruded on you and your home long enough. As soon as I get that clothing, I’ll grab a rideshare and be on my way.”

“No, you won’t.” His declaration was stern and yielded no space for argument.

“Excuse me?”

“Lie still and allow me to examine you before you make unreasonable plans.”

“Unreasonable? I don’t think so. By the way, what time is it?”

Without glancing at a watch or a clock, he answered, “Eight twenty-seven a.m.”

“Okay, so I’m cutting it close, but if you hurry, I can still make it before they leave.”

“Who are they?” he asked and leaned in with that penlight.

“My movers. They’ll be at my office at ten.” Memories of his help rushed in to connect missing points in the timeline of her missed hours. “Remember? You helped me pack. I need to get back to my office to finish that packing. I need to be there to let the movers in.”

“Hold still and look up.”

She did as he asked. The penlight hovered over each of her eyes for a moment. His deep breathing and closeness held more of her attention than the invading light. Sabra tamped down the uncharacteristic urge to pull him into bed with her as he ran a digital thermometer across her brow.

“You’re still running a slight fever.” He took a stethoscope out of the drawer of the bedside table. “Now, let’s check your breathing. Here,” he extended a hand, “allow me to help you sit up while you hold onto the sheet for covering.”

Sabra complied and wanted to run when a whiff of her musty body odor hit her in the face. Sitting up and self-conscious about not only her body odor but her back fat rolls as well, she fidgeted looking for an escape from his invasive examination.

Unmoved by her antics, Colson reminded her to take in deep breaths as the cool padding of the stethoscope hopped around and landed on different areas of her back.

Unable to hold still from the acute self-awareness of her shortcomings, Sabra blurted out, “You’re done, right? I breathed and did the exam. I need to go before I’m late.”

Colson neither answered or hurried as he continued to poke and prod her to inhale and exhale.

When he finished and placed the stethoscope back in the drawer, and took a few steps back, an unfazed tone rode his next words.

“Your office was packed and moved yesterday. You still have a fever, and you need to remain in bed for a little while longer until I can get that fever down.”

His words made no sense, “Yesterday? I don’t understand. How could my office have been moved? I don’t remember doing that.”

“Because you didn’t. I had a friend meet the movers. He cleaned the space and turned the key into office management. They’ve agreed to send your deposit to the account you have listed on file.”

“But, where? I didn’t—that makes no sense,” her words stumbled over one another until he guided her to lie back down. Sabra averted her eyes to still her mind and to avoid looking at the gorgeous man while she was in such an unflattering predicament.

A blinking light on a monitor caught his attention. Sabra followed his line of sight to take in the small machine. The information meant nothing to her but held his gaze for a long moment.

She couldn’t restrain her need to know what was going on. “Cole, uh, I mean Doctor Cole,” she said trying to show respect for his station. “What’s wrong? You said I was running a fever. Why?” Her voice rose an octave through those few sentences. Yep, right now would be a great Tilar moment to help her stay composed.

He put a finger up to his full lips and mimed for her to be quiet. “Careful there, your pressure is rising. I’ll answer your questions and help you fill in the blanks for the last couple of days if you promise to allow yourself to remain calm.”

Sabra didn’t like being handled, and it felt like he was attempting to manage her a bit.

Instead of catching an attitude, Sabra took a breath to do as he asked before speaking again. When she was able to form words without rushing them, Sabra smiled and said, “Thank you for doing this. I’m calm and ready to listen.”

“Great, let’s start by you dropping that doctor title. I’m Cole to you. We’re at home. Well, you’re in the private medical area of the house.” He paused to allow her to say something. When she remained quiet, he continued. “Once you’re able to go to the bathroom over there,” he pointed to a closed door on the other side of the spacious room, “doing it on your own and can have a bowel movement, we’ll see about getting you back into your normal routine.”

His face made a microexpression that gave Sabra pause at that part of his speech. Was he shading her for her new unemployed status? His features were open and warm when she looked at him with greater interest. Sabra shook off the agitation that tried to overtake her.

“Any questions so far?” he asked.

She looked down at her slumped form with the flimsy sheets doing a poor job to hide much of anything.

“Yeah, Cole?”

“Yes, Bria?” his voice was truly addictive with how much concern and comfort it packed.

Sabra shook off its effect to remember her pressing question. “Why am I naked except for an adult diaper?”

“Yes, about that,” his voice trailed off as if giving him time to assemble choice words for a proper bedside manner. “Your clothes are ruined.” He eyed her as she remained stoic. “I cut open your pants to treat your hamstring injury, and your top had blood on it.”

“What about my underwear? You know—my bra and panties?”

To her surprise, his eyes darkened in the most attractive way.

“As I said before, they were ruined. Since you’re on your menstrual cycle, your panties were too soiled for me to allow them to remain. Your bra also had blood on it from one of your head injuries. Plus, it has a wicked metal underwire that I don’t recommend sleeping in.”

Sabra’s head whizzed with how clinical his words sounded. They matched the decor and feel of the room to a tee. Tentacles of embarrassment slid over her.

“I see, sure. That makes sense, I guess,” was all she could manage to get out.

Everything he said did make sense. Why did she feel differently about this? She’d had enough doctor’s poking and prodding her in the past to know what they did. Yet, it was different with him. Not in a creepy way, but like she’d been laid bare before him.

Colson moved over to the bank of monitors at the foot of the bed to work. She strained to watch his movements from her supine position. As before, his body moved with fluid power and grace. What she wouldn’t give to have a comparable physique to match. The comparison happened so fast, she was powerless to stop the barrage of insecurity that resulted.

Unable to continue lying down, Sabra sat back up and looked down at herself. The sheets did little to hide the belly rolls that gathered freely around her waist. Her posture sucked and, yep, after a quick check, her hair was the bed-head helmet she’d expect after being in bed for this long.

The room was too clean and pristine. There wasn’t a blanket, towel, or throw to shield her from his perfectness. Colson turned back in time to catch her scoping out the room.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, following her wild eye darts around the room.

Sabra couldn’t think and do her survival mode at the same time, so she kept her mouth shut. He did that thing with his eyes that she’d come to think of as the ultra-stare and watched her for a long moment. Sabra stayed as still as possible and waited.

“Oh, forgive me. You must be cold.” He opened a wall-flush panel behind the monitors to reveal linen and other items she’d expect in a bedroom closet. There were even a few robes hanging in there.

“Hey? Throw one of those robes over here,” she barked more than said.

Colson was unbothered by her commands. He removed a blanket and one of the robes in the same fluid grace from before, neither speeding up or slowing down.

“Here, let me get this blanket over you. I didn’t want to restrict your movement with the heft of a blanket until it was clear you’d be able to move about on your own.”

Sabra remained quiet and watched, still not sure how she felt about his previous actions while she was unconscious.

“There,” he finished spreading the blanket in a neat row at the foot of the bed. It’s there when you want it. As for this?” he motioned to the plush bathrobe that lay draped over the footboard when you’re ready to go to the bathroom, I’ll help you put it on. It’s a heavy robe, and I don’t want you struggling with it before necessary.”

Sabra’s mind came back online. There was still another issue that needed to be addressed. She needed to know before the puzzle pieces of what she felt could click into place.

“Cole?”

“Yes?”

“Was there anyone else here to help you with—you know—my clothes and this diaper?”

This time he did come and sit on the edge of the bed next to her. Sabra’s breath caught when he picked up her hand and kissed the back of it again. Colson took time to linger as his warm breath tickled her skin. Expressive eyes looked up into hers as he straightened his massive form.

“No, I didn’t have anyone here to help with your medical needs. Your injuries required quick attention leaving little time to get a trained support person here in time.” His voice softened and lowered in introspection. “You gave me a scare there for a while.” He squeezed her hand and added, “I hope my actions aren’t a problem for you.” Colson continued to look at her as if dissecting her soul for clues to her thoughts.

A proper response refused to form as his words settled and took root about their meaning. Before she could catch herself, Sabra snatched her hand away, pulled the sheets over her head and turned her body away from him.

That damned IV burned from the force of her movements, but Sabra didn’t care. The mortification was too much. It took the searing pain stabbing through her body from her thigh area to make her reemerge from the sheet-covered cocoon.

“Ugh—it hurts!” she wailed, bolting up in pain. Her fingers clawed at the dense, sturdy material as she tried to rip the compression garment away from her thigh. “Get this thing off me!”