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Grant
Dinner puthim in a food coma, but Grant woke up feeling a little better than the day before. His head didn’t feel like exploding. His throat was worse, but that was expected. He needed something warm to soothe it. His joints didn’t hurt as much, but his ankle was swollen. Following Blaire around the house like a lovesick puppy probably wasn’t a good idea. He couldn’t help it—she was one of the most nurturing souls he had ever met. It radiated from her like a beacon and he was drawn to her. When he saw her standing in the kitchen, he’d immediately pictured her in his own kitchen in Boston. He loved the idea so much that it had spooked him, which was why he retreated initially, but even that didn’t lastlong.
He didn’t imagine the spark of interest in her eyes. She was attracted to him but he could see the conflict inside her. Would a quick fling satisfy whatever was brewing between them? As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it savagely. The woman saved his life; he needed to leave her alone. His life was on the east coast and he didn’t do long-distancerelationships.
With that thought, he decided it was time to get up. He had a feeling he’d been sleeping for some time. He swore viciously as he got off the bed. His ribs hadn’t liked that. When he limped into the hallway, the smell of coffee hit his nose and he realized he’d not had caffeine in almost threedays.
An overhead wrought-iron lamp brightened the kitchen, but the whole house was lit by the reflection of snow coming from the windows. A fire was burning in the living room hearth and, as Grant exited the hallway, he spotted Blaire sitting on the kitchen bench in red plaid pajamas. She had one foot raised on the seat and a sketchpad rested on that bent knee. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, head tilted as she pulled expert strokes of charcoal across paper. He rubbed at his chest, an odd ache forming there. Grant wanted to commit this unguarded moment to memory so he could take it with him when heleft.
But when Blaire glanced up and a smile broke across her face, all of Grant’s selfless intentions disappeared. There was no fucking way he was never seeing that smileagain.
“You’re awake!” Blaire chirped, setting her sketchpad on the table and jumping up. “Twelve hours,Thorne.”
“You’re shittingme.”
“Nope. You passed out at nine,” his angel informed him. “It’s nine-thirty. Imaginethat?”
Hegrunted.
“How’s thehead?”
“Better.”
“Blurredvision?”
“Nope,” he answered, and before she could ask another question. “Coffee?”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” She raised a brow. “The ones who can’t function withoutcaffeine?”
Damn, he wanted to kiss that smartmouth.
“No coffee,” she said. “You’re getting lemontea—”
“Thefuck?”
“And if you still want coffee, you may have acup.”
Grant was rethinking her nurturing soul. Maybe he’d been hallucinating the past few days. “Do you like torturing yourpatients?”
“You’re better, aren’t you?” she sassed as she turned around and presented him with her oh-so-shapely ass. She headed to the stovetop to turn on the burner under the kettle. Grant spotted the coffee machine, limp-stalked over to the stove and switched itoff.
“Hey—”
“Coffee, woman. None of that lemon tea bullshit.” He started searching the cabinets for a mug. Finding one, he turned around and saw that she had her hands on her hips, her eyes shooting sparks of annoyance athim.
“You’re still sick,” she remindedhim.
“And you made me drink fucking spruce tea,” he shot back. “I deservecoffee.”
Grant tagged the pot of brew and poured himself a cup. He took a healthy gulp and enjoyed the burn going down his throat but he had to admit, it wasn’t as effective as spruce or lemontea.
Blaire threw up her hands. “You’re having oatmeal forbreakfast.”
He sighed. “I’m reallyhungry.”
“I can put some eggs in it,” she offered. “Liam does it and I think it’s disgusting, but I guess you’ll need the calories to maintain those muscles.” Her eyes widened when she caught his smirk “Imean…”
“You perving on mymuscles?”
