He sighed, the sound heavy and regretful. She was just waiting for him to turf her out. But instead, he grabbed a hold of her, picked her up, and carried her back toward the bedroom.
She wiggled a little bit as he laid her down in the bed, and wrapped her tightly in the sheet, and then the top blanket.
“Just stay there,” he said.
She blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what on earth he was doing.
Then she heard him making noise in the kitchen.
Slamming things, opening up cupboards, and closing them.
She just stayed in her blankets, because he had wrapped her up so tightly, not that she couldn’t wiggle out, but she… Didn’t want to. His brand of gruff, reluctant care was definitely strange, but it was deeply Zane.
As was the fact that he hadn’t told her what he was doing.
Or given her any idea what he wanted from her.
Annoying man.
She stared up at his ceiling, counted the knots on the different beams, waiting to see what he was going to do next. And then the last forty-five minutes kept replaying themselves over and over in her mind. The way that he had kissed her, touched her, consumed her, the way that it had felt for him to be inside of her.
She felt an overwhelming wave of grief that she might never experience it again.
Which was… Not great. That definitely wasn’t great.
Zane appeared in the doorway again, shirtless, holding a tray with food on it. “I thought you might be hungry.”
They had just eaten burgers not two hours ago, and now he was bringing her… A grilled cheese.
Her heart clenched tight. He had wrapped her in a blanket and made her a grilled cheese sandwich.
He was taking care of her.
The only way that he knew how. Making sure she was warm, wrapping her so tightly she didn’t get away, and feeding her.
It was almost cute.
And a little bit sad.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He deposited the tray on her lap, and she wiggled herself into a sitting position, extricating her arms from the blanket.
She actually found that she was a little bit hungry. Apparently, sex could really stimulate an appetite.
“This is good,” she said after she took a bite. For some reason, she found tears prickling her eyes, and she was irritated with how much crying she had done lately. It was like everything inside of her was being stirred up, brought to the surface, and demanding attention. That meant demanding her emotions.
But she couldn’t remember the last time someone had made a grilled cheese sandwich for her.
She couldn’t really remember the last time anyone had made anything for her.
Other than going out to a restaurant. She and Marlowe had dinner together often enough, but Marlowe wasn’t really a cook and generally relied on the restaurant at the hotel, and why wouldn’t she?
When Marlowe came over to Cara’s house, sometimes Cara cooked, but a lot of the time they went out to dinner in town.
At home, she had been the one to cook for a very long time. She could remember her dad smiling in the kitchen,humming a tune, and making her a plate of nachos or some chicken and instant rice.
She took another bite of her sandwich.
