Five Days Grace (10 page)

Finally, there was really nothing to do but go to sleep.

"You should stay in front of the fire. It's the warmest spot," he said. "Take the recliner, or the mattress on one of the beds. They aren't real mattresses, just thick chunks of upholstery foam. Pretty comfortable, actually, and it's easy to move them anywhere you want."

She grabbed one of the foam mattresses, dropping it on the floor in front of the fire, along with a pillow and some blankets. He told her good night and started for his bedroom.

"Aidan, stay here where it's warm. Take the recliner."

"You're sure? I'll be fine in there."

"Please, stay by the fire."

So he did, grabbing some blankets and settling into the recliner. He turned out the light, and then it was just him, her and the dog, no light except from the fire. It crackled and hissed, a relaxing bit of white noise, Grace found.

She was surprisingly comfortable under the blankets, on the mattress by the fire, the dog stretched out on the floor behind her, Aidan in the recliner by her feet. Sleeping alone, not having a warm body in the bed that you could reach out and touch in the night, to know you weren't alone... She missed that. It wasn't that she was scared at night in her house. She just missed that subtle comfort that came merely from someone else's presence.

Maybe she'd get a dog.

A really big, snuggly dog, and let him sleep in her bed with her.

Maybe a dog would help chase away the awful loneliness.

Aidan reached out a hand and found one of her feet through the blankets—the only part of her he could reach from his spot in the chair—and held onto it. "I swear, I can almost hear you thinking," he said. "Want to tell me about it?"

"I'm considering getting a dog."

He laughed softly. "Because Tink seems like such a prize?"

"Because I don't like being alone all the time in my house. I really don't like sleeping alone."

He was quiet for a long time. "Surely you could do better than a dog."

"Maybe, but I'm sure I'd have an easier time finding a dog I'd want to live with than a man."

"Well, yeah."

"Pathetic, isn't it?" She felt better just having him hold onto her foot. Just to have his hand on her in the smallest of ways.

"I wasn't thinking that. I was thinking... tonight you can take your choice. You've got a big, wet, disgusting dog right beside you—"

"He is just filthy—"

"Or me. I'm right here, Grace. I'm not filthy, and I don't smell like a wet dog. If you want someone to just hold you for a while, I can do that. In fact, I'd enjoy the hell out of it."

"Really?"

"Of course. I mean, I'm not gonna lie to you. I'd love to do a whole lot more than that, but I won't. I... Shit... The thing is... I'd be shocked if I could."

"What?" Did he mean what she thought he meant?

"Are we really going to be the kind of friends who tell each other every damned thing? Because that just sounds like so much fun right now, telling each other everything—"

"You don't have to. I don't want you to be uncomfortable—"

He scoffed at that. "Did you see a shrink? When you and your husband split up?"

"Not exactly. My sister's a therapist, and believe me, the line between older sister and therapist has never been clearly defined. Actually, they're virtually the same thing with us. She's eleven years older than I am, and mothered me a lot when I was little. She's never really stopped."

"She tell you to talk about your problems, that it would make them better?"

"Yes."

"Ever try it? I mean, really open up to someone about all of it?"

"Just you," she said. "And it did help, so thank you. But forget that. Forget what we said earlier. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"No, it's... Shit, I hate this. I absolutely hate it, but if you're going to spend the night alone with a complete stranger, it'll make you feel better, so what the hell. The crash? Major trauma, especially to the pelvic area. Crush injuries mess with nerve endings and blood flow. My head's a mess, too, a little Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and some other stuff. I've had a lot of surgeries and a lot of medication in my system for a long time. The doctors claim it's not unusual, that I'll heal eventually and everything will work the way it used to. But so far, nothing. It's like I'm numb."

"Oh." How awful for him.

"So, you're perfectly safe with me, Grace. I couldn't do anything, even if I wanted to," he said with a wry smile. "And even if I could, there's no way I'd ever take advantage of you."

"I never thought you would," she said.

"Then come here."

He held out a hand to her.

She wanted what he offered, wanted it very much, even if it did make her feel weak and silly. She was a grown woman, and he was a stranger. A nice one, but a stranger.

"Honey, it's just you, me and the dog. Nobody ever has to know," he argued.

No, they didn't. No one to worry about her, think she was weak or falling apart or that they needed to watch her even more carefully.

She didn't let herself think about it any longer, beyond acknowledging simply that she wanted this very much. If she thought about it, she wouldn't do it.

So she sat up quickly, put her hand in his and felt his fingers close around her palm, the connection warm and solid, comforting. His dark eyes held her gaze steadily and patiently, and she held his hand to steady herself as she got to her feet. Her blankets fell to the floor, and he pulled his to one side, making room for her.

Standing by his side, she hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." He put a hand around her back, another at her waist and guided her over the arm of the chair and onto his lap sideways. Carefully, he tucked her body against his.

She drew her legs up, so they were tucked high against his right side, wanting their weight off his incision. He pulled the blankets back over both of them, and she found herself encased in the most delicious, extravagant warmth.

He had an arm wrapped around her back, holding her, and she let her head rest against his shoulder, where it seemed to fit as if made to be there. If she eased her face over a mere inch, she could press a soft kiss to his neck or his jaw. Her hand rested, flat and still, against his chest and she fought not to let it make a nice, slow, lazy exploration of his body. A part of her wanted to, and another part of her wanted to simply relax and never have to move. It felt so good, nurturing and kind and so very safe.

"This is perfect," she told him. "Thank you."

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Works for me, too. Consider this your spot, Grace, anytime you want. All you have to do is ask."

"I might never move," she confessed.

"Fine by me. There's nowhere I have to be."

Grace allowed herself to let go of everything, the things she didn't know, things she was afraid to know, the secrets she was keeping from her family and everyone else, the sadness, the loneliness, the fear. Just for tonight, she wasn't going to think of any of that, because she wasn't alone anymore. Aidan was there, holding her, soothing her.

It felt like a rare and precious gift, to have this man's arms around her. She suspected he was a little thinner than he usually was, after those months in the hospital, but nothing could take away the strength of him that seemed to enfold her, the patience she felt in his embrace, the acceptance.

She actually tried to stay awake, because it felt so good, almost like something she'd dream on some sad, dark night when she cried herself to sleep, she was so lonely. Funny thing about sleep, when she really wanted it, she couldn't get there, and now that she didn't, it seemed like no time at all before she was gone.

* * *

Aidan thought he must be dreaming, and it was a particularly delicious dream. One of those rare, lazy, morning-afters, when no one had to get up and do anything fast. When the night before had been so good, he hadn't gotten up and left, and no matter what they'd already done, he still wanted more.

He was lying half on his side, and she was beside him, her legs draped over his, her soft hand pressed against his chest, her face pressed against his neck, where she was lazily nuzzling his neck with the tip of her nose and then her mouth, making drowsy, happy sounds of pleasure and contentment.

He had a hand around her back and another sliding up under her clothes to palm the sweet curve of one of her breasts. God, she was soft and so sweet. He buried his nose in her hair, dropped soft kisses on her forehead, down the side of her face, teased her ear with his tongue, which had her squirming and laughing, one of her hands cupping the side of his face.

"I like it, but it tickles," she whispered sleepily, then opened her eyes.

Finally, he realized, it was real.

He was at a borrowed cabin in the woods with a flat-out beautiful intruder, and he'd sworn he wouldn't do anything but hold her in his arms.

Grace.

And at the moment, he'd been a breath away from kissing her like crazy, still had his hand inside her shirt holding one of those perfect breasts of hers. He had to will himself to pull that hand away, down over that soft skin of her chest and her abdomen, like he might actually get into an argument with his own hand.

No, you cannot stay there. Get out now!

And no, it wouldn't be enough to let it stay beneath her shirt in any way. Too tempting. He had to go for a really safe spot, like her back, outside her shirt. No bare skin for him.

"Grace, I am so sorry," he began. "I thought I was dreaming, I swear, and then I woke up with my hands all over you."

She smiled lazily, and she hadn't moved her hand. It was still pressed flat to his chest, overtop his heart. "Me, too."

And then she kissed his cheek, a soft, friendly touch.

He let himself breathe again. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend her or to have her think she couldn't trust him.

"Mmm," she said sleepily, her eyes closed once again, her head nestled against his neck. "Do we have to get up?"

"No. Go back to sleep, honey."

He didn't want to move, either, imagined letting himself drift along in that beautifully relaxing place between sleep and wakefulness. Where time stretches out and slows down and there was nothing but the two of them and lazy thoughts of putting off the real beginning of the day in favor of sweet indulgences. Like holding her just like this.

She smelled so good, and her skin was so soft, her lips. She was still nuzzling her nose against his neck, murmuring appreciatively and settling back into her spot.

He'd slept so deeply, better than he had since the crash. Months of pain, drugs, noise and the constant interruptions that came with the hospital had all combined to play hell with his sleep pattern.

Grace, it seemed, was the cure.

He hadn't felt this rested, this energized in longer than he could remember. He didn't want to get up.

But the dog had other ideas.

Tink stood up, stretched, went to the door and started whining. If he kept that up, he was going to wake up Grace. No way Aidan was going to allow that, even if it meant he had to leave her to take care of the dog.

"I absolutely hate you right now," Aidan told the animal.

Tink just whined some more, like he was the most pathetic creature on earth.

Moving as carefully as he could, Aidan managed to get out from under Grace without waking her and tucked the blankets back around her. Then he kissed her softly on the cheek, couldn't help himself. She smiled sweetly and purred like a satisfied cat as she sank down into her spot without him.

Aidan used the bathroom quickly, built up the fire and pulled on his shoes. Glancing out the sliding glass doors, through the screened porch, he saw what looked like the beginnings of a clear sky with no hint of rain, so he grabbed nothing but a light jacket.

Not wanting to leave Grace without a note, he quickly scribbled.
Took the dog for a walk. Back soon. Aidan.
He wanted to add,
Don't you dare leave before I get back,
or maybe,
Please, please, please don't leave before I get back
, but resisted, barely.

She wouldn't just take off, would she? Not after the day and night they'd had. Unless she was embarrassed about all that she'd told him, things she'd said she hadn't told anyone else. And maybe embarrassed about sleeping in his arms all night.

He and the dog got outside, and he glanced toward the road, about fifty yards up through the thick woods. He saw a small, unfamiliar blue hatchback.

"We could pull a few spark plugs, just to make sure," Aidan told the dog. "Because I know you don't want her to leave anymore than I do."

Tink whined and took a few steps toward the road, probably wanting to go find his owner.

"All right. We'll go," Aidan said, thinking the movement might appease Tink and knowing he needed to walk today, to keep his sore muscles from stiffening up any more than they already had, thanks to the exertions of the day before.