His brow creased in confusion. “Why would I fall down the stairs?”
“I don’t know?” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Maybe you lose your balance, or someone pushes you for being a difficult dickhead?”
He snorted. “Sweetness, I’m the least difficult person in the house. Nobody’s pushing me down the stairs.”
“Doubtful,” she grumbled, knowing full well how stubborn and hot-headed he could be when his patience ran low. “Fine. Whatever. Forget the stairs. What if you need help with something and you’re all alone? What then?”
“Help? Help with what?” He lifted his arm in the sling. “My shoulder’s sore. Not broken.” He cocked his head to the side, his black eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her knees go weak. “What’s this really about, Bec? Are you nervous? Do you need me to wait here until you fall asleep?”
“No!” Oh, shit! Damn it. Not what she’d meant to say.
Fix it. Fix it. Fix it.
Panic swamping her from every direction, she started to shut down, and dropping her eyes to the wood floor, she began the process of corralling the stress, the anxiety, and her troublesome emotions into their individual boxes before she lost control.
“Hey,” he said, cupping her chin and raising her head. “Look at me.” She lifted her eyes, and his were there, confident and steady, a calm front to the tornado swirling inside her. She swallowed and took a breath. He nodded. “Again.” Encouragement unnecessary, she did as he told, because breathing was easy when his chest did all the work. When the air he inhaled oxygenated her lungs. “That’s it, good girl. Now talk to me. What’re you holding inside?”
“I…”
“You can tell me, Becca. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I’ll give it to you.”
“I…” Damn it, why was this so hard? She’d never been shy with Jay before. Never been unable to communicate. Words were simple. String them together. Make sentences. It was the meaning behind them, the thoughts, the dreams, the emotions that hindered her vocabulary and stole her voice.
He waited. Quiet. Patient. His entire focus on her while she tried to assemble the courage to ask for what she wanted. One word, one thought, tumbled around her mind, and with each passing second, it grew in volume until it burst from her lips. “Stay.”
He released her chin and caressed his fingers over the bruise on her cheek. “You want me to stay the night?” She nodded, and he smoothed his hand down the side of her neck. “In here?” She nodded again as the heat from his palm sank into her skin. “With you?”
She executed one last nod while she found her larynx and put it to use. “Yes, but I don’t want you to sleep in the chair.” There. She’d said it. Asked for what she wanted. Sort of.
“I don’t want you to sleep in the chair either.”
Ow.
Her heart pounded so hard it physically hurt. “It’s a big bed.” She dropped her gaze to their feet, and he squeezed her neck so gently she might’ve missed it if she hadn’t been hyperaware of the contact.
“It’s a really big bed,” he replied. “You want to share?” She nodded and kept right on nodding. “You have to say it, Becca.” He removed his hand and dropped his arm. “Otherwise, it doesn’t count.”
Clear consent. She should’ve known. It’d always been that way with him. Until…
“Yes,” she whispered as she mentally swept away the ugliness creeping around the edges of her brain. And taking strength from his proximity, and the fact he hadn’t run away screaming, she continued, her voice louder and firmer as she looked him in the eyes. “I’d like you to stay, and I want to share the bed with you, because I don’t want to be alone. Is that okay?”
His slow, sexy smile melted her insides. “Like I said, whatever you want—whatever you need—I’ll give it to you. All you have to do is ask.”
“That simple, huh?”
“That simple, cupcake.”
“In that case, I’d like a million dollars.”
“Done,” he said, turning on the bedside lamp.
“Shut up,” she huffed, smiling as she shook her head. Relief and fatigue ganging up on her, she let her body crumple to the mattress.
“Legs up,” he ordered. “And seriously, first thing tomorrow, give me the bank address and account information where you want me to make the deposit.”
She snorted and lifted her lower half onto the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not giving me a million dollars.”
“Yes, I am.” Million-dollar bomb dropped, he turned his back and stepped away from the bed. She made an involuntary sound of protest, and he looked back at her. “I’m just going to turn off the light and go wash up, peaches. I’ll be right back.”
