Shayne twisted his head, and his mouth slid off hers to the side of her throat. Her grip was like a wrestler’s, and he had to struggle against it, getting his hands on her shoulders and prying upward to lift himself from her grasp. Laughter gurgled from her moist lips and her blue eyes were wide open, staring up into his with pleased recognition. “Don’t be like that, honey,” she coaxed. “Let’s us have a drink and be chummy.” Shayne said, “You’ve had too many drinks.” “I never had too many drinks. Not ever in my whole life,” she said thickly. She sounded more drugged than drunk. She lifted herself on one elbow to look for the bottle, squinted at it with one eye when she saw it on the table, and said, “Gimme a drink, big boy.” “I told you you’d already had too many. What about Gurney?” “What about him?” She sank back on the pillow.
