At this, Gray frowned. “Why not?” He took a bite of the French bread, which gave with just the right amount of crunch. His eyes widened in surprise. “This bread.” He took a second bite and spoke with his mouth full. “Please tell me there’s more.”
Meredith covered her mouth with the back of her hand, hiding her laugh. “I can make more.”
Eyes still wide, he nodded. “Yes. More.” She started to set her tray aside, and he stopped her.
“But not now. When we’ve killed this. Now, tell me why you aren’t Leona’s ideal daughter-in-law.”
“Daughter-in-law figure,” she corrected. “Not marrying Jamie. Never will.”
She watched him fight a smile, a smile he couldn’t entirely conquer. One that made her heart beat a little faster.
“I think I’m too difficult.”
At this, Gray’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You know, uncooperative…”
He shook his head.
“Critical…”
He shook his head harder.
“Stubborn…”
Gray stilled before giving her a look of contemplation. “You may be a little stubborn.”
Laughing, Meredith nudged him in the knee with her toe. In a flash, Gray captured her foot with his left hand, and she squealed. At the sound, Gray burst out laughing, but he didn’t let go.
“What was that?” he asked.
He gripped her foot as if it were a prize. As if he had no intention of letting go.
Her heart hammered. She took a shaking breath before answering. “I’m ticklish.” It was true, but it wasn’t the reason her face flooded with heat and the bed suddenly seemed much smaller.
His eyes, already glittering with mischief, grew wide again, and he gave a slow nod. “Ah, I see.” His hold never loosened, but his fingers played a scale along her foot.
His touch didn’t tickle. It awakened. She felt it in places she shouldn’t.
A moment of clarity descended on her. Somewhere, they had crossed a line. He shouldn’t have grabbed her foot. She shouldn’t have poked him with it. And she shouldn’t have been sitting barefoot on his bed. But he shouldn’t have told her to.
They had crossed a line, and Meredith didn’t know how to uncross it. She was also pretty sure she didn’t want to. But wanting what she couldn’t have was a life Meredith Ryan was used to living, so she made herself take a deep breath, pick up her fork again, and continue eating. Pretending she could ignore his touch was the only thing she knew how to do.
Gray watched her for a moment, but when he saw the game was over, he set her foot back on the bed and released it with a pat. Meredith’s cheeks burned, and she tried to think of something to say, yet the right words had fled.
But not for the writer in the room. “You’ve been to the French Quarter, right?”
She nodded. “It’s been a while, but yeah.”
He casually took another bite of spaghetti, taking his time before continuing. “So you know the fortune tellers who are always camped out between the St. Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square?”
Meredith pictured the space crowded with artists and street performers, and the card tables and camp chairs of all the palm and tarot readers. “Yeah, I’ve seen those.”
“Well, once when I was twelve, my family and I were walking around the quarter, killing time before going to Antoine’s for dinner, and I spotted this fortune teller.”
The smile in his eyes made her relax. Listening to Gray always allowed her to forget herself.
“I don’t know what it was about her except she had these huge gray eyes and cocoa-brown skin, and when she looked at me, it was like she was calling me to her with her mind.”
He lifted his right hand — the one that had grabbed her foot — and crooked his finger in the universal come-hither sign.
Meredith hoped she didn’t show it, but the gesture, even in imitation, had power. She wanted to obey it.
Gray took another bite — his last bite of pasta — and kept on with his story. “Anyway, I had to — I just had to have her tell my fortune. I’d never done that before, and I’ve never felt inclined to do it since, but that day, I just couldn’t walk away.”
“So did you?” Meredith asked, running a piece of French bread through a little sauce on her plate.
“Well, I asked my father for the money — it was twenty dollars for a tarot reading, and I only had ten. Of course, he refused.” He gave her a look that parodied paternal disapproval, and she grinned. “But Bax and Cecilia each gave me five dollars—”
“Who’s Cecilia? Your sister?” Meredith asked, sure she’d never heard him mention the name before.
A shadow dimmed his face. His smile held, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, my late sister.”
A soft gasp escaped her. “Oh, Gray. I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head gently. “It’s all right. Talking about her is easier than it used to be. She gave me the fiver because she wanted to make me happy.” The smile in his eyes returned. “Whereas, Bax chipped in to help me defy Dad.”
Gray’s chuckle gave her permission to laugh.
“So I went to the fortune teller, and she drew three cards, and I’ll be damned if I can remember what they were,” he said, shaking his head. “But then she asked me if there was a question I sought to answer, and there was. I wanted to be a writer even then, so I asked her if I would be successful as a writer.”
At this, Meredith beamed. She loved knowing that he’d always wanted to do what he was doing, and she loved it for him that he’d become a success.
“And this part I remember as clear as day…” His voice went soft, and he searched her eyes. “She turned over the Knight of Pentacles. Do you know what that one means?”
“No.”
“Neither did I at the time, but she explained to me that it is this knight’s job to persevere to make dreams come true. He has to be tireless. He has to work hard. He has to stay the course, even when he feels discouraged,” Gray said, giving her a meaningful look she couldn’t pretend to understand. “In other words, he has to be stubborn about his success.”
Meredith’s breath caught.
“So, I think stubbornness is a good thing. It means you will be able to persevere to claim what you want in this life.” He gave her a smile that warmed her all the way through. “I can’t think of a better trait for you — a student who is a young mother. You need to be stubborn.”
His words felt like permission and encouragement and understanding all at once. They reminded her that what she was trying to do with her life — become a nurse, provide for Oscar, and maintain her independence — may not be easy, but her dreams had value. And pursuing them was not a mark of selfishness, as Leona and Jamie often suggested.
His gaze connected with hers, and for the first time in a long, long time, Meredith felt seen. And feeling seen, she discovered in that moment, was as sexy as the most erotic touch. Her breasts felt flushed, and her breath went shallow.
She had to get some distance again.
Meredith reached forward and took his tray. “Want any more?” she asked, hoping he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.
The sharp blue of his eyes was unrelenting. He can see everything.
“Not now.”
She tore her eyes away and climbed off the bed. “Not even more bread? It’ll just take a second.”
The pause was so long, she looked up again. The sharpness in his gaze had given way to something else. The muscles in his jaw stood out as though he braced against a great force. “No, I think I want to go upstairs, light a fire, and write.” He breathed in through his nose and his nostrils flared. “Would you like to come?”
And sit in the library? By the fire? With Gray? She’d burst into flames. But she wasn’t about to say no.
“Yes, just let me take care of a few things first.”
Gray frowned, moving out of the bed and standing beside her. “I can help with that.”
; Her stubbornness saved her. She moved the trays out of his reach as he went for them. “We agreed you’d save your strength for writing.”
She planted her feet, and her control returned. Gray narrowed his eyes at her, and she felt safe enough to trust her smile.
“Knight of Pentacles. I have to earn my keep,” she added. He probably didn’t need the reminder of why she was there, but in that moment, she certainly did.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IT WAS NEARLY finished. One more chapter, and Gray would give the manuscript a final read-through before sending it to his editor.
He sat back in his desk chair and drank in the scene before him. The blaze in the fireplace had mellowed to an orange glow. Juno and Vulcan curled on the carpet, napping in the warmth of the crackling embers. Always glad for their company, he’d often look up from the words on the screen to grin at their slumber. But, this evening, the sight that had repeatedly drawn his attention — and had nearly driven him to distraction — was that of Meredith Ryan stretched out on his leather loveseat.
She’d studied with a book in her lap for what seemed like hours, but now, Gray saw that she slept, her head tilted back against the armrest. A few tendrils of hair had come loose from her bewitching ponytail, so dark wisps curled around her peaceful face.
Somewhere in the multiverse, under slightly different — but far luckier — circumstances, there was a Gray Blakewood who looked at a sweetly sleeping Meredith Ryan with nothing in his head but gratitude and desire. In that world, Gray was exactly the same — minus one brain tumor — and he’d met this lovely young woman somewhere in town — say at the farmer’s market or at Art Walk — and he hadn’t bothered to let her youth sway his heart’s urgent insistence to ask her number. In a matter of days, this alternate Gray had learned that his Meredith was kind above all else, stubborn to a fault, liable to blurt out whatever she was thinking and blush about it afterward, and able to drive him mad by gazing at him as if she ached to be kissed. Of course, that Gray would never allow such an ache to stand unanswered.
He’s a lucky bastard, wherever he is.
Gray pulled himself from the fantasy that would do him more harm than good. But, God, she was beautiful. And when she’d sat next to him on the bed and worked her fingers through his hair, he’d imagined yanking her down, rolling on top of her, and kissing her for an age. And it wasn’t just because she was beautiful. And sweet. And funny. It was because of the look he thought he’d seen in her eyes. A look that lit him on fire.
And it was there again — he felt sure — after he’d shared the tarot story. The moment he’d told her to be stubborn. And why shouldn’t she? Someone as hard-working and good-hearted and selfless as Meredith should have everything she wanted. Gray realized he’d love to watch her claim it.
He’d love to watch her do a thousand other things too. Some he wanted no one else to see.
He was certain he’d channeled some of that unquenched desire into the resolution of his novel. Indeed, Alex Booth was leaving the hospital, on his way to find Lyra Kingston, the epicenter of his first adventure and the woman the detective couldn’t forget. It was satisfying to know that the two would come together again — especially if this book turned out to be his last.
A shiver ran down his spine. As much as he wanted to deny it, his symptoms were growing worse. The headaches crushing at times, his vision more sensitive, and instead of being able to go for three days without his meds and be safe, he’d only gone two before a seizure struck.
Bax would come tomorrow and drag him to the doctor. Gray couldn’t really blame him. If the situation were reversed, he’d do the same. Hell, he’d probably do far worse. Go full-tilt older brother on Baxter and strap him to the nearest operating table.
No matter how he looked at it, time was running out, his hopes for a fifth novel leaking away.
The idea felt like a cold hand on the small of his back. If the worst were true, and new scans showed that his window of opportunity was closing, he’d undergo the surgery all too soon. He might not be able to hold out for even another month. And then what?
A chunk of his brain would be knifed out (and chucked into the garbage? Burned in an incinerator? What would they do with it, anyway?), and if that left him without the ability to write, what then? Who would he be?
Gray couldn’t imagine not writing. He was always writing. Even when he wasn’t. Sentences distilled in his mind when he showered or walked the dogs or lay in bed drifting off to sleep. When he didn’t have that — when the Topiramate kidnapped that ability — Gray felt shackled. Run aground. Lost.
If the surgery took that part away, would he feel lost for the rest of his life?
It would be like erasing his soul.
Meredith’s book slid from her lap and landed with slap on the wood floor, and his chilling thoughts took flight. She and his two Vlcaks startled awake, all three looking a little unnerved and confused.
Slipping the grip of fear, Gray managed a smile. “Nice nap?”
She blushed, sitting up and brushing the hair from her face. “What time is it?” Her voice was a little husky with sleep, and this, too, pushed in between him and his worst nightmare. How was that possible?
“A little past five,” he said, sparing a thought for Alternate Universe Gray and what he was allowed to do now that Alternate Universe Meredith was awake. “You okay?”
Nodding, she reached her hands up in a stretch before rolling her neck. Then she stood, and the dogs rose with her. “I just need to move. I was still for too long,” she said, now twisting her torso and forcing Gray’s eyes to the swivel of her hips.
She came around the side of his desk. “How are you feeling?” Before he could answer, she was touching him again, running her fingertips over his brow. He felt it in every cell.
“I’m… okay,” he managed, letting his eyelids drift closed so he could drink in the feel of her and concentrate on keeping his own hands away.
She cupped him under the chin. “Look here,” she said, guiding him to meet her eyes. “I want to check your pupils.”
He made himself open his eyes as a little piece of him died. She wasn’t touching him because she couldn’t help it. She was touching him like a nurse would. Gray had to admit to himself that he would just be the first in a long line of Nurse Ryan’s patients who would endure the bittersweet agony of her care.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, smiling down at him.
Only inches separated their faces. He could pull her down to him in a blink.
“You look so grim all the sudden.”
Gray shook free of her grasp. “Maybe I just need some air.” He swallowed. “Should we go for a walk?”
At the word walk, the dogs perked their ears and took off. Meredith was laughing before they hit the stairs. “I guess so.”
THE WALK WAS torture.
Gray had to stop himself from reaching for her hand every two minutes. As they walked, she told him about her strolls with Oscar. When she looked away and admitted they were the best part of her day, he had to fight the urge to take her in his arms. He asked why she wanted to be a nurse, and he wasn’t at all surprised to hear her completely selfless response.
“To help people who are hurting and afraid,” she told him.
When he wondered aloud what she did for fun, she talked about her best friend Brooke — who sounded like Meredith’s one champion and her love of British comedies. The IT Crowd was her favorite, and her imitation of Maurice Moss surprised him into reckless laughter.
She leaned into him then, laughing too, and it took everything in his power not to hold her against him.
“Bax turned me onto that show,” he said, putting the focus of his mind elsewhere. They’d started watching it after Cecilia. He never admitted it, but Bax had been on a mission to make them both laugh as much as possible after she was gone.
What would Bax turn to if he didn’t survive the surgery?
Gray shuddered at the thought.
; “Cold?” Meredith asked, looping an arm around his elbow.
She was going to kill him. That was all there was to it. But as much as her sweet gesture drove him mad, it also drove away his grim thoughts. And with Meredith, they could stay away far longer than when he was on his own.
Hours later, after they’d eaten apple pie for dinner up in his study — while he wrote and she read a textbook — Gray closed his laptop when he realized Meredith was struggling to keep her eyes open. He would continue writing, but he wasn’t about to keep her up while he did.
“I think we should call it a day,” he said, standing. “C’mon. The spare room is just down the hall.”
He made sure she had everything she needed, including two extra blankets, and then he carried his laptop down to his room. After changing into a pair of pajama bottoms, he pulled back the quilt on his bed and froze.
Gray stared at the bedding. Olive and charcoal-striped sheets stared back at him. Certain he’d slept in his navy blue sheets that afternoon, Gray frowned. Either his tumor was invading his memory, or Meredith had changed his sheets.
The thought made him slightly ill.
Reaching for his phone, Gray didn’t quite know what to hope for. He’d noticed subtle instances of memory loss in the last few weeks. Starting the washing machine and forgetting to load it. Having to look up a phone number two or three times because he couldn’t commit it to memory. That sort of thing. If he’d gone through the bother of changing the sheets himself and couldn’t recall doing so, it was definitely time for another scan.
But the thought of Meredith dressing the bed for him? Nurses changed sheets countless times a day on shift. It was part of the job — just like giving a sponge bath or replacing a catheter tube. It was something they did for patients who couldn’t help themselves.
Patients who had seizures that took them down.
He couldn’t stand it if she saw him that way. Gray took out his phone and typed a message.
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