Falling for the Beast (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 2)

Blake turned, his gaze burning bright with concern and love and something else. Something territorial that made her heart skip a beat.

“Blake,” she whispered.

The space closed between them. His gaze never left hers.

“Ah,” Doug said from beside her. “I see my position here has been made redundant.”

Only then did she realize that her hand was still on his arm, how it might have looked as they sat close together. How it might seem that she had accepted help from Doug.

For a bleak moment, insecurity overtook her.

Until Blake gave Doug a brief nod of acknowledgment. A sort of proprietary thanks for helping her when he’d been missing in action. It meant that she was still his.

Relief swept through her, warm and sure.

She fell into Blake’s arms without understanding the mechanics of it. One moment she was sitting on the hard-backed chair, the next she was encased in a warm, solid hug and this, this was what she’d so desperately needed last night. Almost as much as, even more than, the ride to her hometown. She had needed his strength, his support.

“Is she okay?” he asked against her hair.

“Yes, I think—no, but there’s—” And then all semblance of composure crumbled under the onslaught of his kindness. Tears sprang to her eyes, thick and hot. They wetted her cheeks and his shirt. Her breath couldn’t find a rhythm; it jumped and froze in erratic disarray. The sounds she made scared even herself—choking, gasping, sobbing and helpless with it.

Helpless, like she’d never wanted to be. Like she was. Like she wasn’t when he was near, because his broad embrace sheltered her. He steadied her.

It wasn’t the four-hour drive that had confounded her last night as she’d frantically roamed the campus in pursuit of Blake. It was the knowledge that her mother was sick and she could do nothing to fix it. That hadn’t changed when she’d arrived at the hospital, and it didn’t change now that Blake was here. But he made the helplessness more bearable.

Her life was filled with opportunity, with joy.

Her research and her study. Her love for Blake. Her few but close friendships.

But even the happiest song had a low note. And in deep, rumbling disquiet, she held tightly to him, finding refuge and temporary silence in his arms.

Blake

They weren’t sure what her mother would be up for eating, so Blake grabbed five different options, along with full meals for Erin and himself. All of it balanced precariously on the two-foot cafeteria tray. He stood in line behind a heavyset woman with short grey hair. When the person in front had finished paying, they both shuffled forward. The grey-haired woman set her salad bowl down beside her plastic container of pudding and a bottle of water. She fumbled in her coin purse as the young, bored-looking lady at the cash register rang up the total to just over eight bucks.

More fumbling. “I forgot…ah, something on my salad. I just need to—”

As if realizing her excuses were falling on deaf ears, she quickly piled her items back into her arms and stepped away from the cash register.

The lady at the cash register gave him an expectant look. Blake slid forward and began to lay out his items for the lady to ring up, but he kept an eye on the grey-haired woman. She did return to the salad bar and added a spoonful of ham, as if committed to the lie now.

It was clear to the cash register lady and to himself that she hadn’t had the right amount of money. She surreptitiously returned the water bottle and the pudding to their proper places before returning to the end of the line.

He leaned forward and spoke to the cashier in low tones. “I’d like to leave money for the bill behind me.”

Understanding lit the young woman’s eyes. “I can do that.”

“And if you could…” He grimaced, trying to think of a way to make it less like charity. He didn’t care; he wished he could leave more, but he suspected the grey-haired woman would mind. “If you could say it was a chain, all morning, people had done it, one after the other.”

The corner of her lip tipped up. “That’s sweet.”

He shook his head but didn’t answer. It wasn’t sweet or special to give away what he had in spades. It was a trust fund. Even what little he had earned as a soldier and his short stint as temporary professor was built on the back of a wealthy upbringing and no student debt. He understood his privilege, and though he enjoyed the finer things in life—like brandy and a game of pool, for example—he wouldn’t make a mockery of it.

Piling the bags and drinks in his arms, he passed the gift shop.

Balloons. Damn it. Or flowers, at least. He should have brought some.

It was the hospital smell. No, just being in a mile radius. His body had broken out in a cold sweat when he’d arrived in the parking lot, and a vise had clamped his throat when he’d walked inside. Still, his step hadn’t even slowed. He’d known Erin was inside. He would walk through the halls of hell for her, and he figured a hospital qualified as such.