Elias stretched out his hand, the arm she clutched, and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, away from her face.
“Of all the things you’re worrying about right now, I shouldn’t be one of them. You’re here, you’re safe, and you’ll figure things out. Nowstay putwhile I fix you some eggs.”
He pulled away, his fingers stroking lightly across her cheek as he got to his feet. He grabbed the remote from where she’d dropped it to the floor and hit the menu to block the screen, quickly finding a station featuring Mayberry in black-and-white. He lowered the sound then and set the remote on the coffee table within reach of her before he moved out of sight behind the couch.
She stared at the television, at the happy, sappy faces of the characters going about their small-town existence with all the innocence the show was known for.
She heard the sounds of Elias cooking but tuned them out as she watched Barney do his thing, pretending to be a playboy about town.
She shifted and something dug into her hip. She fished it out, the forgotten pay-as-you-go phone she’d tucked into the pocket of the sweats for safekeeping looking every bit as intimidating as it had earlier. Only minutes ago. What seemed like a lifetime ago.
But calling Rhys was something that had to be done in private, and until she could haul herself off to bed behind a closed door, the call had to wait.
“Scrambled eggs and fruit,” Elias said, rounding the couch carrying a plate, fork, and napkin like a very sexy waiter.
Really, Quinnie?
“Thank you,” she murmured, shifting higher on the cushion and pillow behind her and hating how utterly weak she still felt. Her head still spun, her hands trembled, but the smell of the food left her stomach growling.
He handed over the plate and glanced toward the half glass of juice remaining.
“You should finish that.”
“I will while I eat.” She wouldn’t have thought the broody Elias would fuss at her—a stranger—like he was, but apparently her near-faint had rattled him. “What about you?”
“I’ll eat in the morning.”
The morning. She dreaded the moment she woke up and had to face the consequences of her actions with no other excuses.
“Quinley, eat,” he ordered. “Or I’ll feed you every bite.”
Oh, she wassomessed up. What else could explain the thrill that shot through her at his words? Was he that controlling in every aspect of his life? That disciplined? To get a body to look the way his did, she had to think so. At least when it came to working out and food.
“Eat,” he growled again, shifting to lower himself to sit atop the solid wood table.
“Are you going to sit there and watch me?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
His gorgeous scowl deepened, reminding her of a few fictional book heroes she’d read about over the years. Read and fallen for as only a book lover could do.
“You don’t take proper care of yourself. That much is obvious.”
So if she didn’t eat, he’d…feed her? She almost wanted to push his buttons bynoteating just to see if he’d follow through on his threat.
Don’t you have enough to deal with already?
This time she was the one frowning at herself and the weird connection she was beginning to feel for a man who’d made it obvious he didn’t particularly like her.
She stabbed a bit of egg with the fork as though that would pop her curiosity like a balloon. Then she took a bite, delicious flavor bursting over her tongue.
“Good girl.”
She choked at his words, at the huskiness of them, and wound up in a fit of coughing. He muttered something and gently pounded her on her back until she was able to regain control and breathe normally again. “Wrong pipe,” she squeaked.
He held the juice glass for her to take a drink and, once she had, nodded his chin toward the plate in her lap. Boy, he wasn’t going to give up, was he?
But how was she to know she apparently liked the wholegood girlthing until he’d said it in that pure male tone of his?
