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She blinks her eyes open. “Sure.”
“Good.” I pass her the shirt and walk into the bathroom, where I make myself useful by wetting a washcloth. I take my time, wanting to make sure Jordan’s changed by the time I return to her room.
It’s just my luck that she’s bent over the bed, pulling the covers back. She’s in her little red T-shirt and black knickers, and I have a perfect view of her arse.
My dick gives zero fucks that we aren’t having sex tonight.
I close my eyes and think of spaghetti. My grandmother. The London Eye.
And when I open them again, Jordan’s in bed, frowning at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Meditating,” I reply. It’s not a lie. I cross to her, sit near her hip, and press the cold cloth to her forehead.
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“It should help with the nausea.”
“I never knew this trick, and I’m a nurse.” She swallows hard. “You shouldn’t have carried me up the stairs.”
“Why?”
“Because you have an injured shoulder. That’s the whole reason I’m here, to keep you from doing things like that. It was totally irresponsible of me.”
“My shoulder did just fine.”
Her eyes are closed, but her legs are restless, moving under the covers.
“Are you hurting?” I ask.
“No, I like the way the cool sheets feel against my skin.”
I want to climb in there with her. I want to hold her close and protect her.
And if I’m being brutally honest with myself, that scares the ever-loving shite out of me.
I hardly know this woman. I want to know more. I want to learn more. I’m drawn to her, and I don’t understand why, but I’m not willing to stop now.
She looks so small, so beautiful against the white sheets in the moonlight.
I refold the cloth and press the cold side against her skin.
“I don’t like to be too hot,” she continues. “Arizona is too hot.”
“Get some sleep, beautiful girl.”
Her eyes open and find mine. “You’re a nice person, Nick. Sometimes, you’re grumpy. But mostly, you’re genuinely nice, and I think that’s way sexier than your muscles for days.”
I feel my lips twitch in response. “I think that’s the alcohol talking.”
She just smiles and closes her eyes again. I lean over to press my lips to her forehead. By the time I leave the room, she’s breathing deeply and evenly.
I jog down the stairs to the kitchen, grab a beer, and then walk into the living room to stare into the fire.
I’ve always put the job first. Since I was a child, it’s been the only constant in my life—and my biggest passion. I’m still looking forward to getting back to my position.
But for the first time in my life, something has distracted me. That makes me think maybe there’s something more for me than work. Liam made it work. Yes, he had to leave the job, but I wouldn’t be with a princess. Other guards that work for the royal family have spouses and children.
Children.
I drain the rest of my beer and drag my hand through my hair.
Christ. I need sleep.
The noise coming from downstairs is loud and constant. I roll over, the sheets tangling around my hips as I check the time.
Nine.
I don’t remember the last time I slept this late. Usually, I only catch a couple of hours at a time. It’s a force of habit and a consequence of the job.
I push to the side of the bed and reach for my jeans. I pull them up over my bare hips and, without fastening them, walk over to the closet to find a shirt.
After I use the facilities, I go to investigate the sounds coming from down below. I stop at the entrance to the kitchen and watch in fascination as Jordan pulls a sheet of cookies out of the oven and sets them on a wire rack to cool. The entire kitchen is covered in bowls and pans, flour, and eggs.
It looks like a bakery exploded.
“Good morning,” Jordan says with a big smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I didn’t turn any music on or anything, even though I normally would while I bake. But I figured you must be really tired because we were up so late last night.”
“I don’t usually sleep much,” I admit as I sit on a stool and watch her bustle about. It smells good in here.
“I made you muffins for breakfast,” she says and reaches for a platter. “Huckleberry. As a thanks for last night. You really shouldn’t have carried me, by the way. But I appreciate you being so nice.”
“Did you expect me to let you fend for yourself?”
“Oh, that’s what I’m used to,” she says. There’s no censure in her voice, it’s just a simple statement of fact.
It makes me want to punch the bloody wall.
“Oh, and here, I’m making you some coffee to go with your muffins.”
