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“Unfortunately, I never know. So, we’ll—I’ll—make the best of it. Eat. Go back to my room and sleep. Probably for at least a day.”
“No,” she says forcefully then softens her voice. “I mean, I’ll worry about you if you leave. You’ll need to eat more. Make sure you stay hydrated. What if something happens while you’re sleeping? Besides, it’s a mess over there.”
Excitement settles low in my body. Even my dick, which is seldom roused after one of my obsessive incidents, shares a twitch of interest. “What do you suggest?”
“Stay with me. I mean, stay here. There’s that empty bedroom. I’ll leave you alone as much as you need but I won’t worry so much if I know for sure you’re eating and doing okay.”
A single question needs answered. I have to know whether to be hopeful or, god forbid, denied. “Why are you so concerned?”
A full minute passes as we stare at each other. While I imagine exhaustion is the only thing my face reveals, so many emotions pass through her eyes and open expression. Someday I’ll catalog and understand each one. Each one a song. Today I hope only to hear one thing.
She draws a deep breath. “Because I really like you.”
After finishing off the super creamy and delicious macaroni and cheese and a shared pint of Bailey’s favorite ice cream, my jaw-cracking yawns make her shake her finger at me. “You go to bed. In a few minutes I’ll bring in ice water to keep by the bed because you need to drink more. Then you sleep as long as you want.”
“What if I need something?” I mentally roll my eyes at myself. I sound like a cranky kid who refuses to do what he’s told.
“I could put my number in your phone. Or is it back in your room?”
“Might be in my jeans. In the bathroom.”
“We’ll check.”
“Probably dead.”
“I’ve got all kinds of chargers around here. I’ll see if one fits. Or ask Alice if she has one. Come on. Stand up. Time to go to bed.”
It takes all the energy I have to arch my eyebrows in a muted suggestive manner. She merely smiles softly in return. Exhausted, I struggle to my feet. As we pass the island, she grabs my folio and hands it to me. “You probably want to keep this safe.”
She’s got to be curious yet there’s no hesitation or questions. She’s giving me the opportunity to trust her, showing me that trust won’t be misplaced. “Thank you.”
I find my phone and hand it to her. She holds it up and grins. “Same kind as mine. I’ll go find a charger while you get into bed. I’ll be right back to get you settled.” Then she picks up my filthy jeans and tee. “I’m going to wash these for you. Before they stink up the place.”
After a wink, she exits and closes the door behind her. It doesn’t take me long to strip and climb between the smooth cool sheets. I’m starting to doze off when there’s a soft knock.
“Come on in,” I call.
After she sets a large thermal pitcher and glass on the nightstand next to my folio, I get a mouthwatering view of her heart-shaped ass when she bends to plug in the phone charger. “I put your phone on the charger in the other room long enough to put my number into your contacts. Under Bailey. If you need anything and I’m not close by, just call.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
She shrugs one shoulder and glances around the room. The moment she notices my clothes tossed in a chair in the corner a blush fills her cheeks. I’ve never been able to sleep wearing anything. Even as a kid. Drove Mom nuts. I like Bailey’s reaction better. She softly clears her throat. “Rest well, Marcus.”
“Don’t I get a good night kiss?” The words are out without thought and once they’re hovering in the air, I have no desire to take them back.
Her blush deepens. Someday I am going to make her blush then follow the path over her body. I’ll make her blush until she comes apart in my arms.
With a soft exhale, she leans over me and pulls the sheet up under my chin before pressing her lips to my forehead. “Go to sleep, Mars. I’ll be here when you’re rested.”
The door closes with a muffled click behind her. I turn on my side and stare at the door until the straight lines blur and sleep is all I know.
eight
Bailey
Marcus sleeps through the day, the night, and well into the next day. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling, what he’s been through with his wild creative process. The curiosity to hear the songs he’s written is high enough to make me jittery, but even though he hasn’t woken any of the times I’ve checked on him or brought fresh water, I won’t even touch his work.
I know all too well what it feels like when someone breaks a confidence. The pain of how the man I thought I was starting to love used me and stole my work is still fresh enough to bring the sting of tears. When he turned some background music up loud and tried to seduce me in the workroom, he hadn’t taken no for an answer. Until he knocked over and broke a carboy containing the successful results of my experiments for a new Brachetto d’Acqui.
