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“Hmm,” I mumbled, looking intently at the list of specials. I was suddenly very aware of how he filled his suit. As if it was tailored especially for him. He exuded such raw masculinity and power that it made every female of all ages and color turn their heads for a double take. I congratulated myself for taking extra care that morning to cover the bruises on my face that were fading toyellow.
“Moules-frites,” I said finally and looked up, surprised to see Grant glaring at a man at the next table. The man was stealing glances at me, but when he caught Grant’s eyes, he muttered to himself and returned his attention to hisplate.
“What was that, Angel?” he asked, a bit distracted as he narrowed his eyes at someone else over myshoulder.
“If you’re done glaring at people,” I said dryly. “I would like the Moules-frites.”
A disconcerted look crossed his face, and then he tried to smile, but it ended up looking funny because his jaw was tight. “Sorry, can’t help it. I hate it when men look at you like they’re undressingyou.”
The same way you look at me?I didn’t say. “I’m sure that’s yourimagination.”
“Believe, me, Angel, I know the look.” Grant leaned back in his chair when our server arrived with our drinks. “Moules-frites for the lady. I’ll have your BistroBurger.”
“Good choice as always, Mr. Thorne,” our server said as she entered our order in her tablet, took our menus, andleft.
“So, how are your sessions with Dr. Jones? Are they helping?” Grant asked with genuine concern as he took my left hand in his palms, his warmth searing my skin. I tried to yank it away, but he heldfirm.
“Grant,” I sighed in mildirritation.
“Give me this, Blaire,” he said quietly. “I miss this physical contact withyou.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” I muttered. “Lunch is not a goodidea.”
“Why? Because it’s like a date?” he questioned, his eyes glittering with impatience. “Of course, it’s a date. Get used toit.”
I yanked my hand away. “I don’t likegames.”
“You’re denying what’s between us,” he shot back, staring at meintently.
Three weeks ago, I could say that his family’s safety and Liam’s death were between us, but somehow those words didn’t seem to hold much weight anymore. Did I still feel guilt? Sure, I did, but Dr. Jones thought it was survivor’s guilt. First because my Papa died covering up my killing Yuri, and then Liam, who had been my protector for two years, died trying to save me. Liam and I had forged a bond that went along the lines offight together, die together, but then Grant happened, and Liam pushed me to have that chance athappiness.
“I’mnot.”
The irritation on his face faded. “What are you saying,Blaire?”
Ugh, I hated the hope in his voice. “I’m saying that I’m still attracted to you, but I still think we’re a badidea.”
He exhaled heavily, mild disappointment in his eyes. “You’re soaggravating.”
I raised a brow. “So, why are you putting up with me? You’re spending money on security, on feeding me, on flowers, on chocolate. I got a bracelet from Cartier the other day and earrings from Tiffany this morning. Yet you get nothing in return except ‘aggravation’.”
“Mom would call that courtship,” Grant returned with a maddening grin. “And the aggravation only makes me want to kiss some sense into you.” His eyes traveled down my body. “And otherthings.”
I blushed to the roots of my hair and for the first time in weeks I felt a heat below my belly.Oh, hellno.
“The sessions are very helpful,” I said, desperate to change thesubject.
“What about your nightmares?” Grant cutin.
“How did you …,” Ifrowned.
“I hear you, Blaire, when you cry in pain,” he grated, his eyes darkening. “I hear your pleas for him to stop hitting you, that you don’t know where it is.” Grant took a swig of his beer, his knuckles turning white around the mug. “Several times I was tempted to unlock your door and go to you, but just when I couldn’t stand it anymore, your cries wouldstop.”
“I wasn’t sure if I was having nightmares,” I mused. “I’ve been startling awake for the past four weeks. It is less now, but I don’t remember mydreams.”
“Let me back in your bed,” Grant said softly. “If only to holdyou.”
“I’m notready.”
