Graham dropped his hands before he did something foolish. His brain might have taken a hit, but his dick was functioning just fine, and that was, of course, a problem. Suddenly, the relief he’d felt moments before about finally resting did not feel like relief. At all.
Grace smiled, but he still saw the fatigue in her eyes, the dark circles. “Hey, you took the antler hit,” she said. “Nothing to be sorry about.”
“I haven’t given up on finding an alternative for you to get to Philly. If we get you on an early bus or train—”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I talked to the hospital publicist in Philly. She canceled the event because they’re expecting eight to ten more inches. So whenever I get there, I’ll go visit all the kids who are stuck on the wards over Christmas and pass out books. It’s not quite the same, but it works.”
He still felt bad about detaining her, but he nodded and moved to unzip his duffel. A wave of dizziness nearly bowled him over, causing him to lean on the bed. He didn’t want to appear weak, so he quickly righted himself and attempted to get his toothbrush again. Suddenly, she was at his side, slipping off his shoes, pulling the covers down. Then she finished opening his bag. He gave in to the room’s swaying and his pounding head and lay down on the bed, which felt like heaven.
“Amid all this precision packing,” she said, rifling through his neatly rolled shirts and underwear, “I’m not seeing any jammies.”
From the pillow, he raised a single brow. The corner of his mouth quirked up a little.
“Oh God. You still don’t wear any, do you?”
“No, but there’s a pair of black sweats in there. And a T-shirt.”
She handed him his clothes and his toothbrush and helped him sit up. After he used the bathroom and collapsed back into bed, she was next to him, holding out her hand, which held two red pills.
He looked up at her. “What are those?”
“Midol.”
“I’m not taking—”
“The ER instructions say take ibuprofen, but this is all I’ve got.”
She stared him down, palm outstretched. Finally, he caved. “Fine.” Anything to take the anvil out of his head. He swallowed the pills and handed her back the water glass, but didn’t release his grip right away. “Thank you,” he said, looking straight at her. “I mean it. For everything.”
Her smile warmed him like a shot of Crown Royal, smooth and shooting straight through his gut.
“Well, I’m going to use the bathroom,” she said, averting her gaze and busily unzipping her suitcase, pulling out clothes and cosmetic cases and even a pair of fur-lined slippers. The suitcase, which was stuffed to the brim, looked like a bomb had gone off inside. Graham couldn’t help chuckling to himself. He couldn’t believe it, but somehow, he missed the chaos.
She, of course, took twenty minutes in the bathroom, even if it was one in the morning, and came out wearing her glasses and a flannel nightgown with red and green fuzzy socks. Her hair was loose and wavy, and seeing her like that brought back a thousand memories. Of that hair wild and flowing around his face as she kissed him. Of him trawling his hands through that luxurious mass of silk.
He’d taken for granted all those regular, run-of-the-mill nights where they’d gone to bed chatting and talking, just their regular bedtime routine. He missed their conversation. And the way he always curved his body around hers and kissed her on the neck before they both drifted off to sleep.
How had he let it all go? How had he let her go?
She set her phone alarm and crawled under the covers, being careful to keep a good distance between them.
“Grace,” he said, turning off the light.
“What is it?” came from the other side of the bed.
“I’m sorry I never took you to a place like this when we were married.”
“We couldn’t afford a place like this when we were married.”
“I know, but I was always worried about money. Too much. I wish we would’ve had a little more fun.”
He felt her hand squeeze his arm. “Go to sleep, Graham. Everything’s good, you know? So the Christmas program is canceled and you have a concussion. We’re alive and safe and out of the storm. And it’s Christmastime in a pretty little town. Life could be a lot worse, you know.”
“I’m glad I’m stuck here with you.”
She laughed. “You’re not going to be saying that in two hours when I blast a light into your eyes.”
He smiled. Despite everything that had happened, he felt a strange sense of…well, he hated to say it but…contentment. And that was the last thing he remembered before he fell into a deep sleep.
* * *
It was very dark when the light drilled Graham in the eyes, startling him from a sound sleep. Instinctively, he lifted his arm to shield himself, but Grace leaned over, pulling his arm away and blinding him with the flashlight app on her iPhone.
“What time is it?” Graham asked, squinting against the torture.
“Three a.m. I’m seeing if this works to check your pupils.”
“It does. It fries my retinas quite nicely.”
“Okay, you’re fine. You can roll over and go back to sleep.”
“Who can go back to sleep once they’ve been blinded?”
“As I recall, you have the ability to sleep just about anywhere at any time.”
“Not when it feels like someone’s about to stick a pencil in your eye.”
“You’re so ungrateful,” she said, her tone teasing.
“Besides, I think you might enjoy waking me up.” He found himself trying to come up with something silly to continue their banter. Concussion or no, he wanted to reach out and tug her to him until she was in his arms, soft and wonderful. He fisted his hands and crossed them over his chest and tried to count sheep. Do inventory on the Christmas polar fleece quarter-zip orders, which was the item currently selling like hotcakes. Anything to distract himself from the fact that she was a mere foot away.
They fell into silence again. There was a faint ticking—it might have been her watch—counting out each endless second.
“Graham,” she said.
“Yes?”
“I’d really appreciate it if you’d be okay the rest of the night.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Why don’t we skip the rest of the neuro checks?”
“The hospital said it was important to do it every two hours. I’m just not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing. I mean, if your pupils are unequal or unreactive, doesn’t that usually mean you’re dead?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Saying that doesn’t make me stop worrying.”
He chuckled a little. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Because I’m worried?”
“No, it’s just that you—care. You haven’t got an apathetic bone in your body.” He’d always loved and admired that about her. She cared more than anyone he ever knew. About everything and everyone. She answered every fan letter personally, thanked each kid for every piece of artwork and every drawing they sent. Mailed books to kids who couldn’t afford to buy them. She was even kind to Blakely, who didn’t seem to have a clue how to be decent back.
“Why, Graham, did you just pay me a compliment?”
“Yes. And considering that I’m blind, that’s a big deal.”
She chuckled softly, and for a moment, he felt like he had long ago, when they used to laugh and joke, and conversation came as easily and simply as sunshine on a warm spring day.
They stopped talking, but it took forever to fall asleep again. Graham didn’t really remember the five a.m. check. Come to think of it, he might have mumbled something like Get that effing light out of my eyes, Grace.
But the seven o’clock check was different. Maybe he’d heard her rustling around, turning off her phone alarm before it went off. Maybe he felt the warmth of her breath as she leaned over him, and felt the mattress dent as her weight shifted closer.
“Graham,�
� she whispered. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
“My head feels better.” The bowling-ball feeling had lifted, and for the first time since the accident, he felt pretty normal.
“I have to turn the light on again.”
“As you wish.”
She did, and burned a hole through his retinas again, after which he politely thanked her. But then something weird happened.
She started to laugh. Not a ladylike chuckle, or a little giggle, but a loud, snorty laugh. She always laughed like that when she was a little out of control, when she didn’t care who heard her or what she sounded like.
“What is it?” he asked, wondering if he was missing the joke. Or worse, that he was the joke. Booger in his nose? He ran a hand through his hair to try to assess how badly it was sticking up. Between the stitches and rolling around trying to sleep between torture sessions, he guessed pretty badly.
She touched his arm. Her fingers were ice cold.
“It’s just, if I had to describe this situation to someone, I’m not sure I could. The reindeer antlers, the concussion, the iPhone neuro checks. It’s a little…ridiculous.”
He raised a brow. “A little?”
“Oh well.” She left the bed and put a thick, dark gray cowl neck wool sweater over her nightgown. “I’m freezing.”
“Turn up the heat.”
“It’s already on seventy-five, but it feels like sixty in here.”
“It’s the high ceilings and the big windows that you love so much.”
“I’d take character over heat efficiency any day.” Of course she would. She crawled back into bed, tossing her coat on top of the bedspread. “Since it’s technically morning, I’m not waking you up anymore. You’ve officially made it through the night. Now I’m going to get some sleep.”
It would be so easy to make her warm. Plus, there was no way he was going to be able to fall back to sleep. His head felt way better, and that was letting all kinds of other thoughts flood through. About how she’d blinded him, all right. With her phone light and her smile. She made him laugh, just like the old days.
All it would take was one of them reaching out to the other, to tear down the barriers between them. Everything that had happened to them since he’d walked into the bookstore yesterday—maybe it had all happened for a reason. Graham was not a romantic, but he realized he wanted to believe that was so.
His heart was thudding so loud, he could hear it in his ears. “Grace,” he whispered.
But all he heard in return was the soft, deep sound of her breathing.
CHAPTER 4
Christmas Eve
Grace awakened to a crack of light peeking through strange curtains and the sensation of finally being warm in a cozy, wonderful way. As consciousness dawned, she stretched, bumping into a leg—a leg!—that was definitely not her own. Another tentative stretch told her the situation was far worse. An entire male body appeared to be wrapped around her. His deep, regular breathing assured her he was asleep.
Her every muscle froze in place. The large, masculine arm draped casually over her told her Graham had survived the night. And the very male part pressing into her back let her know he was definitely neurologically intact. A big bicep half covered by a gray T-shirt sleeve encased her solidly. Her gaze trailed from his arm down to his big, beautiful hand, his long, slender fingers resting on the comforter in front of her. Oh dear God, he was wrapped around her like a hot pretzel. For just a moment, she lay still, encased in his strength, breathing in his familiar scent.
Waking up wrapped around each other like this used to be habit. He still stirred her, now and always, in ways no other man ever would. Being near him was to be on fire, and that hadn’t changed at all. Underneath the flames, she recognized something even more disturbing—a sense that everything was right in her world, although the only thing that had changed was him suddenly being in it.
The big muscles flexed. The arm pulled away, and the masculine weight shifted. Grace quickly shut her eyes and pretended to sleep.
The bed lightened as Graham rose to use the bathroom. She heard the muffled sounds of running water, a soft voice talking on the phone. What would today bring? They were stuck in a small town without a car after a major winter storm. It was Christmas Eve.
She didn’t want this bubble to end. Being with him was like being covered by a soft blanket, or wearing a comfy pair of jeans—unlike anything she’d felt before, except with him.
She was rummaging through her suitcase when the bathroom door opened and Graham walked out, hair damp, smelling like heaven. He wore jeans and nothing else, which made her stomach plunge down to the floor and her cheeks blaze. She tried to avert her eyes, look anywhere but at the hills and valleys of muscle, the light coating of dark hair, the way his jeans hung low on his lean hips.
Somehow, she managed to pass him and get in the bathroom, where she used the time to try to calm the hell down. If she didn’t come up with an excuse to leave this room, something combustible was going to happen between them. She had to get out while she still had all her wits about her.
When she’d finally got her breathing under control, she left the bathroom, walked toward her suitcase, and stubbed her toe on the bed.
She let out a curse and hopped around a little, imagining what she must look like with her bedhead hair, red plaid flannel, and Christmas socks. Very sexy. Unlike the delicious, muscular god walking toward her.
She tried to use the pain to distract herself from how her mouth had suddenly gone dry and her knees felt as wobbly as a one-year-old’s, but it wasn’t really working. Worse, Graham stepped a little closer.
She splayed out her arms, warning him back. All that lean muscle, all that raw, masculine heat—it could not come near her. She would throw herself at him, smooth her hands over all that hard, bountiful muscle, and beg for things. Her body could not be trusted. “I’m fine. Really. Just stubbed my toe.”
“Want me to take a look?”
His gaze was torching her, like paper in a fire that turns immediately to ash and blows away.
The fact that he was now inches away with his lips quirked into the slightest smile told her he didn’t heed her warning, or give a damn about it. And oh, she did not want him to. He was so close now, she could smell the soap from his shower, see the little beads of water on his shoulders. His fingers gripped her elbow, and she swore it tingled from his touch. Other parts of her were sort of on fire too. So not good. “Let’s see it,” he said, the smile morphing into a wicked grin.
“Graham, I’m fine.” She tried to shrug away. He dropped his hand, but still she felt pinned in place, unable to move or even breathe. Electricity buzzed and snapped between them. She didn’t want him to see how much he affected her, yet she was helpless with him so near.
His gaze homed in on her lips. He was going to…yes, he was. Kiss her. Her heartbeat thrummed in her throat, and every muscle froze in anticipation.
She wanted it. Wanted him. So, so badly.
Graham lowered his mouth. The dip of his head was so familiar, yet it made every nerve stand on end. At last, their lips met. His were soft and pliant, and they brushed against hers, carefully and slowly. Her hand was trembling as she wrapped it around his neck and pulled him toward her until their bodies were flush, fitting together like they were always meant to.
That simple move blew careful and slow right out of the water. His mouth crushed hers, devouring her with deep, sensual kisses. His tongue slid inside her mouth, and she met it with equal vigor, desire roaring and crashing between them, unleashed like a storm surge, uncontrollable and insatiable.
Suddenly, Graham pulled back, out of breath. He cradled her face in his hands and looked at her tenderly. “I missed you,” he said. “I missed this.”
His words terrified as well as kindled hope inside her. In her life, people didn’t stay. And when they left, they sure as hell never came back.
“I think about you all the time,” he said. “I came
to your book signing because I had to see you. I tried to tell myself it was for Emmy, but it wasn’t. It was for me.”
Grace reached up and circled his wrists with her hands. “When you were slumped over that wheel, all I could think of is how we wasted our chance together.”
“It doesn’t have to be too late for us,” he said. Oh, how she wanted to believe those sweet words. When he kissed her again, deep and hungry, her knees buckled, and they both fell back onto the bed. Thoughts about divorce and mistakes and tragedies fled, and she got lost in the feel of his lips and hands as they roved all over her body.
He rolled them both over until he was on top of her, pulling up her flannel in handfuls, stroking the skin of her sides and back. He helped her drag her nightgown over her head, kissing her lips, her neck, the sensitive skin of her collarbone. She reveled in the way he held her, whispered soft words to her, nipped and licked and kissed her while she lay there clinging to him, unable to get enough.
Grace threaded her fingers though the coarse silk of his hair, ran her hands along the ridges of his back and the smooth, lean muscle of his chest. Every touch was precious. She took nothing for granted. His touch was the same, familiar, expected, and yet different—more hungry, more desperate, making her tremble as if it was their first time together.
“I missed you too,” she whispered as he kissed her breast, flicked her nipple with his tongue, and took it into his mouth. Before she could even let out a coherent sound, he traced the band of her panties with his fingers, back and forth, teasing, until her body felt like a guitar string, taut and quivering. She was close to tears, overwhelmed with the joy of being in his arms. A joy she never thought she’d experience again.
She ran her hand along his fine ass, then wrapped it around his shaft and stroked him. He let out a strangled groan. His gaze, bright, intense, and vulnerable, told her he was just as affected by their lovemaking as she was.
She was very wet, and he was stroking her, playing, tormenting. She felt feverish, quaking, turning her head restlessly until he kissed her, murmuring soothing words to calm her while he slipped his fingers inside her and continued his sensuous torment.
CAN'T MISS CHRISTMAS: A NOVELLA (Mirror Lake) Page 4