With Every Heartbeat (Forbidden Men 4)

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. So I cleared my throat and glanced away. “Well...thank you...again. I have no idea how to repay you.”

“No, you don’t—” he started, waving his hand, only to pause and glance down the hall toward Cora’s room. “Actually, do you mind if I stick around until Cora gets home? Just to make sure she’s okay?”

My eyes grew big. Whoops. I’d kind of forgotten about Cora. “No, not at all. Here let me try her cell phone again. Maybe she was just out of service for a bit.”

But Quinn shook his head. “I already tried. She still has it turned off.”

“Oh. Well...” I kicked at a spot on the carpet. “Psych time?”

“Sure.’ He nodded, looking glum, but started to follow when the wet squish under his shoes made me pause.

“You have to be miserable in those wet things. Do you have any extra clothes in Cora’s room? I could throw the ones you’re wearing in the dryer.”

He scratched his ear, not looking very hopeful, but checked Cora’s room anyway. He exited a minute later, wearing nothing but the sleep pants he wore on Saturday mornings when he made pancakes. My gaze dropped briefly to the wet shirt and jeans he gripped in his hand, but strayed right back to his bare, rippled chest.

But holy...moley.

Yeah, he looked good shirtless.

“This was the only thing I could find,” he said softly, tugging bashfully at his pants.

I bobbed my head stupidly. “That’s fine.” And, wow, was it fine. He was fine. “At least you found something.”

Actually, it was too bad he’d found anything, because Quinn Hamilton in nothing but his boxers had to look—yikes. I probably shouldn’t let my mind stray there.

I bumbled forward jerkily and held out my hands for his wet clothes. He handed them over, looking a bit reluctant but letting me take them regardless.

I tore my attention from his chest and hurried his clothes to the utility room where I shoved them into the dryer and cranked it on.

When I found him in the living room, still gloriously shirtless, he’d settled on the couch and started up our show.

“Looks like you’re already on season five,” he said, appearing shocked by my progress.

“Yeah, I...” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m definitely a fan now.”

He grinned at me. “That’s so cool.”

I knew I should’ve taken the side chair, but I could see the television from a better angle on the couch, with him, so I sat beside him, leaving a whole cushion of space between us.

He sent me another glance and then started the show.

When neither of us laughed at the first one-liner, I knew something was wrong. Quinn picked up his phone and glanced at the screen, and it struck me how worried he was.

I’d learned not to worry so much about Cora. She seemed like one of the most self-sufficient people I knew. When she needed help, she knew how to get it. I was almost glad he didn’t know about her kidneys; he’d probably be through the roof right now.

I scooted closer to him and patted his knee. “She’s okay.” I was going to make sure she stayed okay. Just a few more months of testing, and she’d be as good as new again.

He glanced at me, his eyes swirling with misery. Then he blew out a breath and tugged me closer to him so he could wrap his arm around my shoulder.

Tipping his face to the side until our heads touched, he murmured, “Yeah,” but he didn’t sound so sure of his claim. “I bet she’s fine.”

We fell asleep that way, watching Psych and pressed up against each other with his arm around my shoulder and my cheek resting against his shoulder.

Cora woke us when she unlocked the front door. Yawni

ng and stretching, we stirred to find the show was long over. We were getting to our feet when she stumbled inside.

She faltered to a stop, glancing between us. “What’s going on?” She focused on Quinn. “Where’s your shirt?”