“I’m smaller,” she argued. “I fit better in the chair than you.”
“And you’re barely recovered from a concussion that resulted in a coma.”
“A short coma.”
“But a coma, nonetheless.” He sighed. “Please, take the bed. I can sleep in the chair or on the floor.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Avery said. “You can’t sleep sitting up or lying on a cold, hard floor.”
“I can, and you will sleep in the bed.” He raised his hand to stem her next flow of words. “It’s not up for discussion.”
Her jaw tightened stubbornly. “If you sleep on the floor, I will, too.” She lifted her chin and then lowered it, her face softening. “Look, the bed is large enough to accommodate both of us. I promise not to touch you. We both need sleep so that in the morning we’re clear-headed and ready to tackle this case. Just go with this minor inconvenience this one night. Tomorrow, we’ll get another room.”
Sleep with Avery?
In what universe would he sleep with the woman he loved lying in bed beside him? So close and yet so far. Sleep would be the furthest thing from his mind.
Despite the absurdity of it all, he found himself caving. At least he could let her fall asleep first. Then he could move to the chair or the floor. Tomorrow would be soon enough to argue about getting another room. He refused to leave her alone and unprotected with a killer at large. Separate rooms were out of the question.
“Okay,” he relented. “Go now. Get your shower.”
Avery’s eyes narrowed. “You’re giving up so quickly?”
He forced a shrug. “If it will get you to sleep sooner, I’m all in.”
She stared at him a moment longer before she drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “All right then, I’ll only be a few minutes.” Avery disappeared into the bathroom. Like him, she left the door slightly ajar.
It took all of Grant’s willpower to turn his back on the gap. Every fiber of his being urged him to push the door open and join her in the shower.
But he wouldn’t.
Unless she asked him to join her.
And she wouldn’t. When she’d signed the divorce documents, she’d made it clear they were done.
For the first year after she’d ended their marriage, he’d told himself she’d done it to protect him. That she really did love him still. After two years and hearing that the operation had been a success, he’d finally resigned himself. If she’d still loved him, she would have contacted him upon emerging from her deep undercover operation.
She hadn’t.
Until she’d woken up from a coma with only his name and number coming to mind.
Grant paced the room, his hearing hyper-attuned to the sound of the shower. He could imagine rivulets of water snaking across her naked body.
He couldn’t stop the groan that rose from his chest up into his throat. Blood pumped through his veins, and his nerves stood on edge. When he needed to release tension, he would usually run several miles. He worked hard to channel the patience he’d learned as a Navy SEAL. The kind he’d needed as his team had waited for the precise moment necessary to launch an attack. He’d focused on the objective.
In this case, that was to find the killer.
More importantly...to keep Avery alive.
After the twentieth pass pacing the short length of the room, the bathroom door swung open.
Avery emerged wearing a T-shirt barely long enough to cover her ass. She’d combed her long, dark hair straight back from her forehead and let it hang in damp strands down her back. She carried the clothing she’d changed out of and laid it neatly on the dresser beside the other items she’d purchased at the store.
“You might as well use the drawers,” Grant said. “If we get another room, you can keep this one.”
“Thank you,” she said and moved her clothing from the top of the dresser into two of the drawers below, taking her time, an awkward silence stretching between them.
When she was done fussing with the clothes, she straightened and met his gaze. “This doesn’t have to be so awkward.”
