Page 2 of Awakened By the Guardian

“Favorite meal of all time!” She went to the oven, cracked it, and inhaled deeply. “It smells heavenly.”

She looked heavenly, all rosy cheeked beneath the freckles. Her strawberry blond hair fell forward, across her shoulder, and down to curl around a perfect breast. He envied that lock, and he consoled himself with the thought that very soon he would curl his tongue right where⁠—

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

He’d known she would be. She always waited to eat until she was back in Detroit and they could do so together. They’d both been born and raised in Michigan and had come to the big city to help revitalize it. He picked the neighborhood because the hospital was nearby. She’d picked her loft because it was close to the airport. And Fate had put them next door to each other.

“Shall I pour the wine?” The bottle was decanted and the perfect temperature.

“Absolutely.” She frowned. “Though, didn’t your doctor say⁠—?”

He gestured with his chin to the empty water glass by his desk. “I’ve been drinking all day. No dehydration for me. I’m ready for this most perfect pinot noir.”

“Sounds perfect,” she echoed. But even as she said it, she grabbed his empty glass and filled it from the tap. Then she added just the right amount of ice because she’d been doing that for him for over two years now, starting from the day she moved in next door.

She handed it to him at the very moment he extended her wine. They switched and drank, their eyes meeting across the rims of their respective glasses.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said as he set the glass down half empty. “I’ve fully adjusted to using a cath.”

Not sexy. But she’d been the one to find him barely conscious from a pain he couldn’t feel. Constipation caused by dehydration, coupled with his paralysis, had created a life-threatening problem. She’d called the ambulance over his objection, and she’d been the one to stand by his side while the doctor chewed him out for a very preventable problem.

He had fallen in love with her that very day. Not only had she stood by his side through the whole humiliating episode; she’d teased him about it for months afterwards. In a nice way, of course. It was one thing to be vulnerable and have someone tiptoe around a problem. His mother was like that, so awkward about his bodily functions that she’d driven them both crazy with her anxious hovering. Not Margaret. She’d gotten a list of poop and pee jokes from the Internet and had told him one every day until they’d both become comfortable with the issue. She still sent him good jokes over email when she was traveling. And her teasing had gotten him through the humiliating adjustment to becoming a paraplegic.

“Well,” she quipped, “if you’re sure you’re properly hydrated⁠—”

“I am.”

“Then drink up!” She poured him a glass of wine.

He wanted her to stay right there, leaning against the counter as they talked, but the moment he took the glass she spun away to grab plates from the low cabinets. And sure, that meant he got to look at her beautifully curved ass, but the graphic images he had of stepping up behind her were impossible, what with him being unable to stand.

That didn’t stop the fantasy.

“I was going to do that,” he said. “It’s your birthday.”

“I don’t mind. And besides, you like looking at my ass.”

His heart twisted at her statement. This was the crux of their friend-zone problem. She was so easy with him, all teasing flirtation. She made jokes about how he liked her legs, her ass, or, hell, her whole damn body. But that’s all they were: jokes. She never let him touch. The one time he’d tried—three months ago—she’d blocked his advance with a startled look then found an excuse to leave.

He’d figured out his mistake: he’d surprised her. She liked things slow, and she liked to see them coming. And she’d gotten over it. A week later, she’d breezed in like she’d pushed the reset button, all teasing friends again, and he hadn’t pushed again. That had worked for the next few months, but it wasn’t working for him now. Every deal he’d ever sealed had a make-or-break moment. Tonight was theirs.

“So, come get your birthday present,” he said, his heart speeding up.

She was laying out place settings, but she paused long enough to tilt her head in another perfect beauty pose. Her smile was sweet, the light hit her eyes enough to dazzle, and even her skin glowed.

“There’s more?”

He folded his arms. “You know there’s more. Quit playing coy.”

She grinned like a mischievous child. “Okay. But let’s wait until after dinner. I’m too hungry to properly appreciate my fabulous present.”

Patience, Gary reminded himself, is the key to success. He could wait until after dinner, though damn his internal engine for revving like he was poised at a starting gate. His heartbeat felt more like a vroom-vroom than a tha-dump. To cover, he went to pull the turkey out of the oven.

“I’ll get it,” she said.

“But I can⁠—”

“I know you can, but I want to present it like in those Norman Rockwell paintings. Mother carries in the turkey while Father waits to carve.” She gestured to the implements by his plate. “Kids and dog eagerly anticipate the meal.”