Page 50 of Bottles & Blades

Or if she’s uncomfortable.

I grind my teeth together, use logic instead of my dick.

Which means I know that Stefan and Brit would likely have offered to help this woman.

And that she likely would have refused to accept it.

“Dammit, buttercup,” I murmur.

“What?”

“You’re too pretty to be this stubborn.”

Her mouth drops open in outrage, a retort sputtering out of those lush lips.

Good.

I need her awake enough to get some food in her.

I hit the button to engage the lock, bring her to the kitchen, and set her on the counter.

“What are you do?—?”

“Feeding you,” I mutter, turning to the fridge and eyeing the contents. This isn’t the time for anything fancy. It’s getting some calories into her fast and then tucking that sweet ass of hers into bed. I grab the bread, meat, and cheese I brought last night then the mayo and mustard, figuring she must like it since it’s in her fridge.

Then I whip up a sandwich, slap it on a plate, and bring it over to her, ordering, “Eat.”

“More orders,” she mutters.

“You can argue with me when you’ve eaten and slept,” I tell her.

“Another.” But she grabs the sandwich from me and takes a huge bite, her hunger overpowering her sass.

“Another what?” I ask when she’s eaten half the sandwich.

“Another order.” Her nose wrinkles, but I don’t miss the concern creeping into her eyes when her gaze drags down my front and back up. “And you’ve been going all day too, haven’t you? Didyoueven eat?”

“Marie brought me lunch.”

Her eyes narrow. “And dinner?” A beat as she studies my face. “Yeah, exactly,” she grumbles. “Now are you making yourself a sandwich or am I?”

“You’re,” I say, knowing better than to argue, “going to sit there and eat that sandwich. And I’m,” I add when I see the protest well up on her face, “going to make myself one.”

Her teeth clack together.

“Good with you?” I press.

Her nose wrinkles again, but she just mutters, “Yes.”

I lean in, press my lips to the bridge of her nose. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

And then I set about making myself a sandwich, not speaking again until I notice that she’s watching me…and not finishing her food. “Eat up, buttercup.”

Her eyes jerk away from my ass (something that’s making mycockjerk). But she starts eating again, so I go back to making my sandwich and then, before long, I start eating it.

“How was your day?” she asks quietly.

I stop chewing and focus on the question.

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