She yawned, then furrowed her brow. Then her eyes shot open, and she bit her lip.
“What are you reading?”
“A book.” But she angled the phone away from me, so it was either self-help she didn’t want me to know she needed or something more fanciful. Like the stacks of novels littering the floor in her apartment.
“Romance?” I guessed.
Color climbed her cheeks. “Maybe?”
My mother had read romance novels. Historicals, mostly. The covers had women in elaborate dresses, standing in English gardens or on windswept moors. She’d had stacks of them in every room of our apartment when I was in my late teens, dog-eared and cracked at the spines. She’d tear through one in a day or two, and start the next one.
The books at Grace’s apartment had been different. Shirtless men with abs that didn’t exist in nature. Military types, from the dog tags and tactical gear. Not historicals.
“My mother read those,” I said. “All the time.”
Grace’s attention shifted fully to me. “Yeah? What kind?”
“Dukes and earls.” I shrugged. “She loved the Regency ones especially. Said she liked the manners and how people talked around what they really meant.”
“That’s sweet.” Grace smiled, a dreamy look coming over her. However, it might have been the fatigue. “Pride and Prejudiceis one of my favorites.”
“She’d reread the same books over and over. I never understood it. Why read a book when you know how it ends?”
“That’s what I love about romance novels.” Grace tucked her phone against her knee. “They always end with a happily ever after, but it’s about following the characters as they figure it out. Knowing they’ll get there, but not knowing how.”
Happily ever after, my ass.
She yawned again. “Sorry. Long day.”
“We won’t get to the hotel until after midnight. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“I probably should.” She wrinkled her nose. “Although I’m not sure I can.”
“Nerves?”
She nodded her head slowly, fiddling with her phone case. “Can I ask you for a favor?”
“You can always ask.”
She chuckled, the first positive sign I’d seen from her in hours. And fucking Christ, that hit me square in the chest.
You should have taken her to the Tower in the first place, asshole.
Ihadbeen overly cautious. I’d taken her to the pub without any conflict or pre-screening, so why had I pushed about the Tower of London?Because every second you spent with this woman has your protective instincts flaring hotter than normal.Sure, I’d turned out to be right about Caulfield—I wasfairly certain, at least—but leaving her alone for over an hour was a stupid choice.
“Can you just…” She covered her mouth for another yawn. “Can you just talk to me for a bit?”
“That’s not my specialty.”
She chuckled again, and her gaze slid up to meet mine for no longer than a breath. “I noticed.”
Someone five rows ahead of us stood, and I watched them move toward the front of the car.He’s heading for the bathroom, Garrett.
“Would you tell me about the work you did with Tristan and the others in Afghanistan?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything. Everything.” Another yawn. “I don’t think I can sleep, but my brain isn’t up for reading.”
