“Nothing happened.” She faced me again. “He asked which sexual positions would be safest while his hip is healing.”
For several seconds, my mind supplied no response at all.
“He asked you?”
“This afternoon.”
“Did he say he wanted to—” I stopped, unable to make the rest of the sentence sound neutral. “Did he say he thought he was ready?”
“He said he expected to be soon.”
Desire came first, hot and instinctive. Fear followed so closely that the two became nearly indistinguishable.
Maeve lowered her voice.
“I gave him general medical guidance. Supported positions. Limited rotation. No sustained pressure through the injured side. But I made it very clear that physical capability and emotional readiness aren’t always synchronized.”
“I’m aware.”
“He trusts you, Reid.”
“I know that.”
“Then be careful that his trust never begins to feel like an obligation.”
“It won’t.”
She studied me long enough to decide whether she believed it.
Apparently, she did.
After she drove away, I went back to the workboat repair and spent the next half hour pretending corroded wiring required my complete attention.
It did not.
My thoughts remained upstairs with Noah, asleep in our bed after asking Maeve how we might have sex without hurting him.
I tightened a battery terminal, checked it, then tightened it again.
Owen leaned over the opposite side of the engine compartment.
“You planning to fuse that bolt to the post?”
“It was loose.”
“It stopped being loose five minutes ago.”
I reached for the next cable.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re grinning at a marine battery.”
“I am absolutely not.”
Caleb emerged from the break room carrying coffee that looked thick enough to repair hull damage.
“He was grinning at his phone earlier too.”
