Stealing Her (Covet 1)

I stared at the shreds of shoes littering the white granite table and then stared up at him, something wasn’t right. “Did they do something to your hair at the hospital?”

He hesitated briefly then smirked. “Yes, they have a masseuse there as well. Figured I’d get the royal treatment since I almost died.” His lips pursed and then he let out a low laugh. “Now, any other ridiculous questions?” He crossed his arms like he was up for a challenge and tilted his head like I amused him.

I let out a defeated sigh as I felt my shoulders roll forward like they tended to do when I wasn’t reminding myself to keep my perfect posture. “No.”

“I’m still making you dinner. Go do something that helps you relax a bit and we can eat in a few hours.”

“You never cook, Julian.”

“Things change.” He said it while looking at me, not through me. I felt my heart cracking a bit. “Let me take care of you, the way you take care of me.”

And there it was.

I gaped at him in stunned disbelief as tears filled my eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t on morphine?”

“Why do you keep assuming I’m on hard drugs?” His easy smile was back. “Izzy, go lie down, I’m serious, I know how stressed you are, I can feel it.” He braced me with his hands and leaned over, touching his forehead to mine. “You’re soft, you know that?” He cleared his throat and shook his head.

Strange.

I watched him stumble a bit toward the middle of the kitchen, and despite my conflicting feelings about him, couldn’t help but be concerned. He’d clearly cleaned up, wearing a white button-down and trousers that hugged his body tighter than usual. They stretched across his chest and ass, not that I was staring. He stumbled again against the counter and winced.

Okay, I was definitely staring. He’d always been beautiful, perfect.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath. “I think I’m missing ribs or cartilage or something necessary for life.”

“Here, sit down.” I hurried over and grabbed a chair. I might be rusty, but I knew how to make sure all his ribs were at least in place and not poking lungs.

“What?” He frowned. “Why?”

“Wow, the concussion must have really done a number on you. Nursing major, remember? Let me just . . .” I gulped as I reached for him then pulled back. Why did this feel so different? “If you could just lift your shirt, I’ll make sure that you’re not dying.”

“I could be dying.”

“If they let you out of the hospital, you’re not dying,” I pointed out.

“What if I escaped?” The corners of his mouth lifted up into a teasing smile that completely disarmed me. “You know, grabbed my clothes, ripped out my IV, and made a run for it with my bare ass flashing every nurse on the floor.”

“That sounds like college Julian, or drunk Julian, not grown-up Julian with his expensive suits and preference for brunettes.” It slipped.

He flinched.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, not if it’s true.” He slowly pulled his shirt back. I let out a little gasp. “Knew it, I’m dead and this is heaven.”

I laughed a little, I couldn’t help it. “No, it’s just . . . you must have a lot of swelling, I mean you look, then again you’ve been working late nights so I haven’t really been paying attention to what’s under . . . you know what?” I stood abruptly. “You’re hurt, you shouldn’t be cooking.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted softly. “Let’s not start insulting my manhood. I’ve already endured a catheter, alright?”

“Ah, found one small enough, did they?” I teased. I couldn’t help it. He was making it easy. He was making me feel young again, as stupid as that sounded.

Julian burst out laughing. “Right, I deserved that.”

My own smile fell. This wasn’t real. It was a fantasy, wasn’t it? Soon he’d go back to work. Things would go back to normal, and I’d be crushed. I asked the question I didn’t want the answer to. I needed to prepare my heart, because already he was crawling back into it like he’d never left. “When can I expect the drugs to wear off and for all of this”—I waved him up and down—“to disappear?”

His expression sobered as he whispered roughly, “If I had my way . . . never.”

Julian turned his back to me.

He was done with the conversation.

And instead of napping, all I kept wondering was why he made it sound like he had no control over his own mind.

Chapter Nine

BRIDGE

I found out quickly that they had absolutely no food in the apartment, but I did locate a list of takeout numbers, which only made me turn up my nose. Takeout? Home-cooked meals were the way to go, and after going through the prices of Chinese, I figured I’d be better off trying to get groceries delivered. We were in the heart of the Upper East Side; if you couldn’t get groceries delivered in an hour, what was the point?