She actually appeared insulted. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He lost track of how long he stared at her. It could’ve been seconds, minutes or even an hour. Eventually he said, “Beautiful, if I could pick you up and carry you to bed, would do that right fuckin’ now.”
She combed her fingernails down his bearded cheek. “How about if I help you back to bed and we pretend that you did the whole caveman routine.”
“Not the same.”
She rolled her lips under for a second. “I’m not sure even if you were fully healed if you could throw me over your shoulder and take me to bed like a Neanderthal.”
“Wanna bet?”
She shook her head. “No need. I’ll go willingly.”
They both went willingly.
It wasn’t only the premium Kush that put them to sleep, it was her getting on top of him and taking her time to make love to him. Sweetly and slowly.
And that’s what it was. Her love.
Now that he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it.
He’d do his best to figure it out.
Chelle pulled a breath in through her nose and stretched with a groan. Normally when she woke up stiff and sore, she didn’t enjoy the feeling. But this was a welcome discomfort from a very enjoyable reason. She smiled, sighed out all the air from her lungs and rolled to her side. Her eyes popped open and she quickly lost that smile.
Shade’s side of the bed was empty.
Her heart shot into her throat and she sat up, glancing around her bedroom.
His crutches were still propped by the bed, the curtains over the French doors remained closed, the bathroom was dark and the door open.
She closed her eyes, blinked them open once more and glanced at the empty, wrinkled sheets next to her.
Nope, still gone.
It was Saturday and last night, while still draped over his chest and catching their breath from sex, she had discussed getting back to painting this weekend since he was finally allowed to ditch the crutches and brace.
Oh yes, he’d ditched the brace all right. He’d left it on the nightstand next to his side of the bed. She twisted her head to where he’d kept his backpack and cut for the last two weeks. Of course. Those were gone, too.
She closed her eyes again, pressing the heels of her palms against them, stemming the sting.
She was sure there was an explanation.
He wouldn’t just leave, would he?
Without a word?
Just... leave?
Just like that? Without saying goodbye or letting her know where he was going? Or telling her that he was moving back into his room on the farm?
Nothing?
That wasn’t Shade. He wasn’t like that.
Or maybe he was.
Maybe he was right when two nights ago he stated, “You don’t know me.”
Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought.
He had revealed some of his secrets, but not all. She had no idea how many he really had.
It could be so many, he’d lost track of them all himself.
Maybe it was her age.
Maybe it was her having two grown daughters.
Maybe it was Rick’s dislike of him and the idea of someone like him being in Chelle’s life.
Maybe it was all of it.
Maybe it was none of it.
She had no idea because he left without a damn word.
Anger quickly bubbled up and replaced the deep-seated hurt.
He’d used her. That was what he did. She was an easy mark desperate for love and attention. Thrilled that a man eleven years her junior would even want her or find her sexy. He was gorgeous, great in bed and could get any woman he wanted.
Why would a man like that want her? An older widow and single mother.
She fought the sting in her nose and eyes.
Well, fuck him. Fuck him for making her fall in love with him.
Fuck him for breaking her heart like this. Pretending to care for her as much as she cared for him.
Fuck. Him.
She grabbed her phone off the charger, turned it on and while it booted up, she sat on her bed and seethed.
Because anger was easier than heartache.
When her home screen appeared, a message popped up. She knew who it was from before she even saw the name.
She read the simple message—made up of only two damn words—ten times to make sure she wasn’t imagining it. After the tenth time she still wasn’t sure if she should be heartbroken or angry. Or both.
Love you.
“Love you,” she whispered.
He loved her? Why would he text her that instead of telling her in person? Where the hell did he go?
She double-checked her texts to make sure that was the only one from him. It was.
She checked her voicemail to make sure he didn’t leave her one. He hadn’t.
She tried calling him and the call went right to his voicemail.
She tried texting him and received no response.
He had stayed in her house, in her bed, for the two weeks Trip had forced him to. The minute he was done with that sentence he left.