Page 60 of Things We Hide from the Light
“Wow. Someone got their act together,” I said, noting the transformation inside. It even smelled clean.
“Yeah. Right,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Let’s go, big guy,” I said, kicking the door closed and guiding him over to the couch.
He collapsed onto it, eyes closed. His face was pale and sweat still dotted his brow. Piper hopped up next to him and put a tiny paw on his thigh.
“It’s time for the Lina Special,” I decided, depositing the dog leash on the coffee table.
“Please tell me that’s code for some kind of sex,” he said without opening his eyes.
“Very funny. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Don’t go.” The easygoing humor vanished and those blue eyes pleaded with me to stay. “It feels better when you’re close.”
Now it was my turn to have trouble catching my breath. I’d never been with a man who needed me. Wanted me? Yes. Enjoyed me? Of course. But needed me? That was brand-new, terrifying territory.
“I’m going next door and I’ll be back in less than a minute,” I promised.
The subtle clench of his jaw was nearly my undoing. But he finally nodded.
I ducked back into the hall, leaving his door open, and made the two-second journey to my apartment. Inside, I quickly found what I needed. When I returned, Nash was still in the same position, watching the door.
“Fifty-seven seconds,” he said.
Juggling my haul, I closed the door again.
“Get ready to relax your ass off,” I said, switching off the overhead lights. I turned on the lamp next to Nash, then took everything else into the kitchen and deposited it on the counter. “I assume your phone connects to this manly looking speaker over here.”
“You assume correctly,” he said, still watching me. “Coat pocket.”
He was still wearing his jacket, a slim-fitting field coat in army green.
“Two birds,” I decided. “Lean forward.”
With my help, Nash slid his arms free. He was wearing one of those sexy thermal shirts that hugged a lot of muscle. It was an unnecessary observation given the current circumstances. Unnecessary yet somehow unavoidable. I could have been on my death bed and I still would have paused to appreciate the man’s form.
I found his phone and used his face to unlock it.
“Oh, come on! You have a playlist called Country Slow Dance,” I complained, pushing play.
“Got a problem with that?” he asked as George Strait’s voice crooned low.
“How are you not married with a pack of kids?”
He waved his right hand down his body. “Honey, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a brittle husk of a man.”
I sat on the coffee table in front of him. “The husk thing is temporary. You’re the marry-your-high-school-sweetheart type. How did some Knockemout cheerleader not tie you down?”
“I had some wild oats to sow first. Had fun sowing ’em for a while. Then fell in love with the job. Had a lot to clean up before I felt like I could give someone the attention they’d deserve.”
“You thought that someone might be Naomi,” I guessed. And why not? She was pretty, kind, loyal, and sweet. She didn’t have any of the rough edges that I did.
“For about five seconds. It was pretty clear she was it for Knox.”
I pointed at his feet. “Boots,” I ordered.
He glanced down wearily as if the task were too monumental.
