Page 44 of Soft Tissue Damage
I rarely let my eyes linger on Mr. Grant, because otherwise, I’d be staring at his handsome face nonstop. Sitting so close together on his sofa in his warm, cozy house while he holds my hand, I give myself permission to drink him in.
When I first met Mr. Grant, he had a solemn, washed-out look. He wore bland, pale colors. He had the air of a man who was trying to fade into the background.
Now, he has a glow. He wears black more often, a striking color on him that enhances his handsome features. He’s not so careful about covering his tattoos, and he moves with newfound confidence and authority.
Mr. Grant watches me study him. “What do you make of me, Elena?”
I feel a warm sparkle when he says my name. “You’re different than when we first met.”
“Am I?”
“When I first saw you in that diner, you seemed like the world had ceased to give you any happiness. Your divorce must have been painful, but I think you’re getting past it.”
“Maybe that’s it.” He cups my face and strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Thank you for always taking such good care of my daughter, darlin’.”
A heated thrill goes through me as we stare into each other’s eyes.Darlin’. He called me that right before hekissed me in his truck.Are you afraid of me, darlin’?I still don’t know why that happened—or why I enjoyed it so much. Mr. Grant is twenty years older than me. Surely he’s too old for me to think he’s sexy or want to go to bed with him. Our lives are in very different places. I’m a mess, and he has responsibilities and an important job. He’s my boss, at least some of the time. It’s not appropriate or realistic for me to think about Mr. Grant in any way that’s romantic or sexual.
And yet.
I’ve been terrified to admit it to myself, but Leon’s dad has a strong pull on me. Feeling shy, I glance at our hands with our fingers tangled together. My eyes travel slowly up his arm, his shoulder, his throat, and then to his face. I feel a jolt when I realize he’s looking at me as intently as I’m looking at him.
Elena. How much do you really want my son?
My eyes drift to his lips. Such a full lower lip. A sensitive-looking mouth. I remember vividly that it feels so good to be kissed by him.
I lean forward slightly, closing some of the gap between us. My eyes flutter closed, and I tilt my mouth up to his.
“Elena…” he whispers, grazing my cheekbone with his thumb.
“Yes?” I whisper breathily. This is where he tells me that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss. Or better yet, he just takes my face in his hands and kisses me. A demanding kiss, filled with desperation that we can finally sate.
“I should check on her, Elena.”
I frown, not understanding what he means. I hear a distant, tinny sound, and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s Rosie crying through the baby monitor apps on both of our phones.
My eyes snap open. Mr. Grant is gazing at me with a deep line etched between his brows.
“Oh, my God. Rosie.” I sit up with a gasp. “I’m so sorry.”
He gets to his feet. That frown on his face has to mean grave disapproval. “It’s all right, Elena. I’ll go.”
“Please, I can do it.” My face is flaming as I hurry after him. The whole reason I’m here is to look after Rosie. Trying to kiss the hot dad while I ignore the baby? I’m the worst babysitter ever. Unfortunately, Mr. Grant beats me to the nursey.
As he lifts the crying, red-faced little girl in his arms, there’s the gentlest look on his face, and he murmurs soothing words to her. I hover by his side, twisting my fingers together, feeling useless but also unable to leave his side now that I’m here.
When Rosie’s crying dies down, Mr. Grant turns to me. “You go back to the sofa, Elena. You’ve had a terrible shock tonight.”
I’m suffering the newer devastation that I tried to kiss my boyfriend’s dad while I neglected his daughter, who I’m paid to look after. I think I’d rather break up with Leon a second time. “I’m so sorry, I should have heard her crying and come right away.”
“After the night you’ve had, you have nothing to apologizefor. I’m the one who feels like I should apologize to you on behalf of my son.”
I move away and rest my back against the doorframe, enjoying the sight of him holding Rosie and the comfort it brings me. He looks even sexier with the baby in his strong arms.
I glance toward the stairs. I can’t keep having these crazy thoughts. “I’m in the way. Seeing as I’ve ruined your evening, I should go home. Unless you want to try and make that poker game?”
Mr. Grant places his daughter back in the crib, cradling her in his big hands. Thanks to the comfort of her father’s arms, the little girl has closed her eyes and fallen back asleep. He gently tucks the blanket in around her, and turns to me. “I’d drive you home, but Rosie’s sleeping. Stay here and sleep in the spare room. I’ll look after her. I’m not in the mood for poker now anyway.”
Is it my imagination, or do his eyes drop to my mouth for a moment?
