Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

His smile could not be contained. She was just such a fucking joy to behold, and he couldn’t stop staring at her.

He thought she was lovely in those pretty little dresses and rompers she wore every day, and irresistible naked, but like this…

He laughed—a soft, breathless sound filled with wonder. She melted his heart. And—even while he found himself hopelessly charmed by her—it scared the living shit out of him. Because all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and hold her close.

“Don’t say a word,” Vicki warned, her grumpiness making her that much more adorable. “These are my ‘feel better’ jim-jams, and I won’t stand idly by while you disparage them.”

Ty raised his hands in surrender. “I would never.”

She considered him, eyes narrowed, lips pursed—trying and failing to look stern. “Good.”

“Ready for dinner?”

“Uh huh. It’s nearly nine. I can’t believe you let me sleep for two hours. I never have supper this late.”

“I wasn’t exactly quiet while I was cooking. You didn’t so much as twitch when I accidentally dropped a metal spoon on the floor. I figured if you were that tired, it was best to let you sleep.”

He had already familiarized himself with where everything was, and quickly had a couple of bowls of bolognaise set down on the round dining table.

“Wine?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Just water is fine, thanks. This looks amazing.”

She sat and lowered her head to sniff the fragrant steam floating up from the bowl.

He brought a couple of glasses and a pitcher of ice water to the table.

“Dig in,” he invited, sitting down. She made an excited high-pitched sound and picked up her fork, prompting him to warn, “Careful, it’s hot.”

“This is so good,” Vicki said around a mouth full of food. Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth in horror. “I’m sorry, that was so rude.”

He laughed. He found it so easy to laugh around her when they were relaxed like this. “I’m glad you like it.”

She gave him a thumbs up but didn’t speak much after that. She put down her fork when only the tiniest amount of food remained in her bowl.

She sat back with a contented sigh. “I’m stuffed.”

Ty scrupulously mopped up the last of his sauce with some bread and—plate clean—took a sip of water.

He sucked at his teeth, placed his elbows on the table, folded hand over fist, and watched her above his knuckles.

“So, what’s the story with that?” he asked, nodding at her bowl.

“What?”

“I know you said it feels like bad manners to finish everything on the plate, but I’ve watched you…” Too damned much. “It doesn’t matter how much you’re enjoying your meal, you never finish it. It’s almost compulsive.”

She took a sip of water. An obvious delay tactic. She kept her eyes on the glass, delicately wiping the condensation with a thumbnail.

Her voice was subdued when she finally spoke. “I had a problem with food in my early teens. I couldn’t stop eating. I felt hungry all the time and my relationship with food was complicated as a result. I loved eating. And I hated it. I was thirteen when I made myself throw up in the girl’s bathroom at school.”

He made an involuntary sound of dismay, and her eyes flitted up to meet his, before skittering back to the glass.

“Bella caught me.” A sweet, reminiscent smile touched her lips then disappeared. “Before that, we’d barely exchanged two words. But she dragged me to the guidance counsellor’s office and sat with me while I spoke about everything—my mum always working, Hugh’s OCD, Miles drowning beneath all the responsibility but trying his damnedest to keep the rest of us above water. I didn’t even realize how much it all affected me until it came pouring out of me.

“I didn’t understand it then but eating made me feel in control at first. Until it didn’t. We didn’t have much, and I made our situation worse by stealing food. And I hated myself because of that, so I took even more. And nobody noticed because I was an active child with a fast metabolism. I never gained weight, but I felt so conspicuous. Every time I ate, I felt better for two seconds, but then I felt a whole lot worse. That day, in the school bathroom, was the first—and last—time I tried to alleviate all that guilt by throwing up.

“The guidance counsellor was obligated to tell my mum, who was horrified that she hadn’t noticed. She felt responsible. So did Miles…and I felt awful because I’d added to their burdens. We went to family counseling, and I had to see a child psychologist basically throughout my teen years. But we worked through it. I wanted them to be proud of me. I wanted to like myself and be normal.”