Blind Warrior (The Weavers Circle 3)

As Lucien walked past Cort on his way to the door, he winked at him. “Good luck.”

“Screw you!” Grey shouted at his retreating back, but the smile was obvious now.

Lucien’s chuckle was cut off by the door closing behind him. Butterflies decided to flutter about Cort’s stomach. Alone at last. Cort was glad his client couldn’t see his expression, because he was busy rolling his eyes at himself. This was ridiculous. Yes, Grey was a sexy, sharp-tongued man, but he was a patient who needed him first.

“So?” Grey prodded when Cort allowed the silence to stretch too long.

“Well, I might be impressed. Depends on how long Lucien was helping you,” Cort drawled as he crossed the living room.

Grey pointed in Cort’s direction. “Not as long as you’re thinking. I only asked him to confirm that I had the right shirt.”

“Did you have trouble with the color device?”

Grey shook his head. “No, I’ve got two shirts this color, but I think one of them is missing a button. I was going to get it fixed but haven’t yet.”

“So, you showered, shaved—”

Grey touched his cheeks and gave a little sigh. “My usual beard is out for now. Too hard to maintain without being able to see the lines. How did I do?”

Cort leaned in a little closer, trying to ignore the spicy hint of aftershave that drifted from Grey as he inspected each of the man’s clean-shaven cheeks. There were a couple of tiny stray hairs that he missed, but nothing anyone would notice unless they were leaning in this close.

“Looks pretty damn perfect to me. Nicked yourself?” He asked, spotting a little bit of blood.

Grey’s fingers immediately jumped to the spot. “Yeah, twice.”

“Who doesn’t, right? You took care of it just fine.”

A relieved breath left Grey and he nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

“So, showered, shaved, fixed your hair, and dressed in matching clothes. I think that’s an excellent start to the day.”

“You gonna give me a gold star?”

Cort snorted. “If I do, I’m gonna stick it right in the middle of your forehead with superglue.” Grey smiled broadly at him and Cort swore that his heart stopped. No man should have a smile that made him even sexier. Not like Grey’s. It was like walking through dark and gloomy woods and suddenly stepping into a golden meadow glittering with magic and promise. Dear God, he wasn’t thinking clearly when it came to this man.

But it wasn’t just the way Grey looked or how he smiled. It was that Cort instantly felt comfortable around him. He wasn’t censoring himself, fearful that he might be pushing a client too hard. He’d lightly tease some and their feathers were instantly ruffled. Most preferred to be coddled and constantly cheered. And that was fine. They were going through a lot of rough stuff.

Not Grey. It was clear from the start that Grey didn’t want to be treated with kid gloves. He wanted his normal life back, and a key part of that was likely that he wanted to be treated normally. Spending just five minutes with Grey’s family proved that their definition of normal was playful ribbing and teasing.

“You spoke to them yesterday, after you left me…I mean, after you left the apartment,” Grey said, a slight blush painting his cheeks. Cort had known what he meant, but it was a cute misstep. He let it go.

“Yes. They wanted to know how to help you without screwing up all my hard work.”

Grey snorted and took a tentative step forward. He hesitated and took a deep breath before moving cautiously. Cort grinned as his client carefully but confidently walked over to the sofa and sat down. Stubborn could definitely work in Grey’s favor at times.

“That would explain why I was dragged out of my apartment and forced to eat in the house last night. And why I had Clay banging on my door at seven a.m. for coffee and waffles this morning,” he grumbled.

Cort sat on the couch beside Grey. Just close enough that Grey could easily feel the couch move and feel his presence, but not so close that the man would feel as if Cort was encroaching on his personal space.

“How did it go?”

Any remnants of Grey’s smile vanished. He frowned, his gaze seemingly directed downward as he sorted through memories and emotions. “Not bad, I guess. Dinner was a baked ziti, so no worrying about me using a knife.”

“Who’s doing the worrying? You or them?”

Grey huffed a laugh. “Okay, so maybe that’s more me than them. I think.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got some tricks for you. You’ll be managing that next steak like a pro. What else?”

“It’s…it’s disorienting being around all of them. They like to all talk at once and talk over each other. It’s noisy and while I know all their voices, it gets overwhelming trying to follow everything while guessing at the nonverbal gestures. Then if someone gets up…”