Page 28 of Sterling Heat

By the time Sebastian returns to his place, I feel a little more like myself. His shower is luxurious, and I stood beneath the spray until my fingers shriveled.

I’d just finished a phone call to my sister who can’t get away until the time we agreed she’d come to stay. I could really use her support right now. I’m out of my element living in the apartment of a man I’ve only known a week.

As I step out of the bedroom, he graciously designated as mine, he’s entering his apartment. He abruptly halts at the top of the stairs that lead into his place. Our eyes meet before his gaze scans my body.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Oh. This.” I glance down at the Curmudgeon Bakery T-shirt he’d given me that first time. The one I promised to wash and return. A promise I never followed through on. I’ve worn it often in the past months, especially as my belly grew. Since I’m still not down to my original size, I slipped it on for its comfort. “I’m sorry I never brought it back to you.”

He steps toward me, but stops short, keeping distance between us. “No. I told you to keep it. It looks good on you.”

Heat creeps up my neck and flushes my cheeks.

Sebastian glances around his place. “What happened to all the boxes?”

“I put everything in my room. Like I told you, I don’t want to be in the way, and I don’t need to assemble half those items until Adara can come home.”

Home. Right now, I’m a little homeless, living in this man’s apartment while my condo is on the market, and my house isn’t finished yet.

Sebastian had a strange reaction when I told him I’d bought the Wallace farmhouse. Does it have some sentimental value to him? I’ve heard the rumors it is haunted but Trudy Wallace, the woman who sold the place to me, assured me she didn’t believe the gossip. Just in case, though, she brought in a Wiccan friend to burn sage or something.

Old spirits be damned.

With all the updates I’ve done, I don’t see how a ghost would recognize the place.

“Enya, you shouldn’t be lifting anything.” Sebastian scowls. He’s kind of cute when he’s acting like he’s angry but he’s more irritated. Very curmudgeon.

“I didn’t. I placed a box on a towel and then kind of pushed it, so I didn’t scratch your floors.” His apartment is amazing with hardwood flooring and exposed brick walls, plus the natural light is incredible. He doesn’t have any window treatments.

“I want to head back to the hospital.” I hate to ask, but I need to know. “Were you able to find my car?”

“It’s downstairs.”

“That was fast. But you didn’t have my keys?”

“Oh, yeah.” He sheepishly looks to the side. “I have my ways.” I don’t ask for an explanation. He offers, “If you give me ten minutes, I can go with you.”

“Are you sure you want to go back to the hospital?” He’s already been there so often.

Sebastian closes the space between us. “Stop asking, sugar.” He reaches out for my hair and scoops a section behind my ear. His hand lingers along my neck.

His touch is tender, and it’s been so long I’ve almost forgotten how sweet human contact with another adult person can be. He was the last man I kissed. As for sex, I can’t even count backward that far, which is saying a lot as I’m into counting.

I bite my lip and meet his gaze. The blue in his heats.

“Ten minutes.”

I nod, unable to speak when he looks at me like that. Like he’s warmth on a summer day and heat in the dead of winter. It’s how he looked at me when we first kissed, and I was foolish enough to think it was anything other than a friendly meeting of lips. I’m the one who turned it into something more.

Sebastian walks toward his bathroom, and I head to my temporary room to change. As I rummage through my suitcase, Sebastian appears in my doorway.

“What’s this?” His jaw clenches as he holds up a bottle of pills and shakes them.

“It’s an opioid. The hospital prescribed it for pain.” I actually feel pretty good, despite today’s physical exertion. I didn’t do as much laboring as Sebastian, who hardly let me lift a finger. I might be sore later, but nothing a few ibuprofens can’t handle.

Slowly, Sebastian lowers the bottle, gaze still fixated on the brown cylinder.

“Enya, I probably should have told you this before, but I’m a recovering drug addict.” His head lifts, eyes meeting mine, while his shoulders remain tense like he’s prepared to defend himself. “I’ve been clean for ten years, but I never want to tempt myself.”