Lily: Seriously? What did they find?
Del: No details yet. I’ll keep you posted as usual. In light of this, Dame Maxwell would also like more regular reports.
Lily: How regular?
Del: Daily.
My head says this is about an overly worried sister who’s concerned about her brother. However, my gut says this could also be her way of assessing how I work. Suddenly, this feels more like a performance evaluation when I was being considered for a promotion in the military. Except this is even more important to me because I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
I lower my hand holding the phone as Payton walks outwrapped in a towel. Water droplets fall from his hair, making a path down one side of his chest. I’d love to make a similar trail down his pecs with my fingers to see if they’re as muscular as they look.
But if I want a shot at that position on Dame Maxwell’s security detail, I have to shut that kind of thinking down. That’s just immediate gratification rearing its ugly head and will only mean failure in the long run. I can’t let Payton Maxwell get under my skin.
Or my heart.
“Shower’s all yours. And thank you again for your help.” His sheepish expression turns borderline rakish, which seems to wake up every cell in my body. “Happy to return the favor if you ever need it.”
I snicker. “Not gonna happen, big guy.”
Is this his way of getting even for my impromptu kiss last night? I grab random pieces of clothing to make my escape to the bathroom because that bruise down his side does nothing to diminish his sexiness, but then stop. “Can you dress yourself?”
His expression appears guarded. “I’ll figure it out.”
Did I offend him with my refusal of his offer to return the favor? Surely he was joking because there’s no way anything can ever happen between us.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Payton isn’t on the bed as I’d expected he would be. And when I leave the bedroom, I find him on the couch, dressed in a T-shirt and jersey shorts, reading his book again.
I stop in front of him and point at his clothing. “How did you manage to get a T-shirt on, let alone pull up a pair of shorts?”
He glances down at his attire, thenshoots a rather mischievous look up at me. “I googled how to get dressed with broken ribs, which recommended sitting down.”
I glance over at his metal bar stools and gesture at them. “Too bad you didn’t think of that for the shower.”
The dimples on one side of his mouth deepen with his lopsided smile. “I don’t believe that would have worked quite as well as having your help, which I confess, I found quite enjoyable.”
I resist the temptation to grab his book and smack him on the back of his head. “Tomorrow you’re on your own.”
He raises a single brow. “Yes, ma’am.”
While Payton reads that infernal book of his, I get the guest room ready for me now that Luke has vacated the premises. I’m sure Payton will enjoy having his space to himself again. I’m not even going to consider the slight pang I feel at the thought of sleeping in separate rooms tonight.
With Del’s go-ahead, I run to the store to restock his fridge. How domestic of me? Washing sheets, cleaning the bathroom after a very hairy hockey player, and now grocery shopping? This role of pretend wife is feeling a little more real than I’d like at the moment, yet strangely appealing on a level I’m not sure I understand.
If anyone’s watching his movements, they’ll most likely think I’m Payton’s flavor of the week…or the month, although I don’t get the sense he dates a lot. And so far, neither Del nor I have picked up on any irregularities or anything suspicious. The longer I’m here, the more I suspect his cousin’s disappearance was truly due to an accident. Nevertheless, Del did say they have a potential lead.
When I return to the apartment, Payton’s sitting on the couch, still reading. For some reason, I find that aspect of him as sexy as his physicality. The more I get to know him, the more I see a man who’s diverse and well-rounded. I wonder if that’s due to his semi-royal British upbringing.
I hand him a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated. That will help.”
He closes his book. “Thank you.”
“I’ll make us some lunch.”
His expression turns playful. “I didn’t expect your role as my fake wife to include actually taking care of me.”
My turn to lift a brow. “Neither did I.”
The ding of my phone saves him from having to reply. I’m expecting an update from Del right about now, but the text isn’t from her.
