Page 109 of At His Beck & Call

I stare at the doorway, frozen with indecision.

This is stupid. Everything about my offer, getting involved in her life, and pulling her deeper into mine is beyond foolish. But I can’t seem to stop.

I close my eyes, the shame of how we met tugging at me. I wish it had been somewhere else. Anywhere else. I could have gotten to know her for real, spent time with her outside of my twisted, perverse way of being.

I open my eyes again and find her watching me from the doorway.

“Are you alright?” she asks, frowning at me as I nod automatically, bending down to pick up the dog, hoping that the gamut of emotions I am feeling isn’t written all over my face.

I walk to the doorway, towering above her as I peek inside.

Henry is smack dab in the middle of the bed with his arms out to either side.

“I’ll need to try and shift him onto his side so I can get in next to him,” Lissa says. “He's been sleeping on his back a lot since the surgery.”

“Don’t wake him,” I whisper. “You can come and sleep in my room.”

My hands clutch at Truman as those words leave my mouth.

Did I just invite her to sleep in my bed?

Lissa’s brow furrows as she looks at her son’s sleeping body, and then she nods, slowly.

“Are you sure?”

No. What the hell am I doing?

“Yes. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

I turn around, holding the dog tightly to my chest as I try to process what it is I’ve offered. This makes no sense, but I’m not going to backpedal on the offer at this point.

I walk down the hallway to my bedroom, which is on the same floor as the guest room. Lissa’s eyes widen as she comes in behind me, staring at my bed and the huge windows letting in a hazy light as the snowflakes continue to fall.

“This room is beautiful,” Lissa says, her voice wavering slightly.

“You don’t have to sleep here if you don’t want to,” I blurt out and expect her to sigh with relief and turn back to her son’s room, but instead she looks up at me, those wide eyes curious.

“Where would you prefer me to be?”

At my side for the rest of my life.

“Here.” I bite my tongue as I lower Truman to the floor. The little menace jumps up on the bed, even though he knows he isn’t allowed to, perhaps discovering that I’m a soft touch when Lissa is around.

“Get down,” I say firmly, and Truman lowers on his haunches and sits very primly on the comforter. Lissa snorts softly beside me.

“Truman wants to sleep on the bed too, it seems,” she says tenderly, and I roll my eyes.

“He’s so spoiled. But this is worse than usual.”

I walk over to the dog, glaring down at him as he pants up at me, but I don’t have the heart to move him. Rubbing my palm over my forehead, I push down the frustration at my own weakness.

What is wrong with me today?

“I have a spare toothbrush,” I say, nodding toward the bathroom. “Would you like a shower?”

A vivid image of her body arched on the hood of my car flits through my mind as she nods awkwardly.

“There are towels inside on the left. And some different body washes and shampoos in the cabinet. Use anything you like.”