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He stripped down to his boxers, a mountain of a man who made the bed dip once he lay down. He left the sheets at his waist, showing off all his sexy hardness.
I was in a loose t-shirt with my hair in a bun, nothing fancy.
He didn’t seem to care that my long, luscious tresses were hidden away in a tight band, that my eyelashes were real instead of thick and fake, that the imperfect complexion of my face was genuine. Whether I looked my best or my worst, it didn’t change the way he treated me. It was an interesting phenomenon, considering my ex-husband left me the second I gained some weight—after having his goddamn kids.
Grave cocooned me in his strong arms, the searing heat instantaneous. He brought me against his core and shared the pillow with me. Not a word was said, but his physical presence was more than enough. It chased way all my troubles.
If Kyle were to come back for another round, he’d be dead.
* * *
My alarm shattered my sleep.
It was six-thirty, and I had to get the kids ready and drop them off at school.
Grave slept on, not the least bit fazed by my annoying alarm.
I quickly got ready then left the bedroom to pack their lunches. The bedroom door was shut, and my kids would never go in there in the morning, so I wasn’t worried about one of them walking in and seeing an enormous man dead asleep.
I dropped them off at school then headed back home.
The house was quiet, and I entered the bedroom to find Grave sitting upright in bed, a mug of hot coffee on the nightstand, and he was reading something on his phone. When he felt me in the room, he put the phone down and looked at me.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d still be here.”
“Without breakfast first?” he asked, that handsome smile moving on to his lips.
His smile was infectious, and I found myself mirroring it back to him. “How do pancakes and eggs sound?”
“Get to it, sweetheart.”
I headed into the kitchen and got to work, and he joined me in his boxers, sitting on a stool at the bar while he continued to write emails and text people. There were days when we didn’t talk, and I suspected those were the days he was working, a human mechanic that cut people open for parts to put in other vehicles. Sometimes it was hard to believe when he was so good to me.
I set the plates at the dining table, and we ate together.
With his arms on the table, he scarfed down his food like he was starving. I’d made him three eggs, but that didn’t seem like enough to feed a man of his size. His biceps were nearly as big as my head. “Tell me why you were upset.”
I’d stopped thinking about it since he’d come over. “Doesn’t matter.”
He stared at me from across the table, his eyes demanding. “Sweetheart—”
“This is a two-way street. You don’t tell me things, so I don’t have to tell you things.”
He continued his look, thinking seriously about his next move. “My job is to make sure you feel safe. Do you feel safe?”
I couldn’t suppress the deep breath that I took. He could interpret situations like a detective.
“You didn’t want to leave your kids, but from what I could hear from the bedroom, they were totally fine. So why did you feel like you couldn’t leave them?”
I couldn’t stand that look. I couldn’t stand the way it burned my flesh.
He didn’t let up. He didn’t blink. He scrutinized my features like a director on a film set. “Has Kyle bothered you?”
Asshole.
“Sweetheart,” he pressed. “Why won’t you tell me?”
I broke eye contact and looked down at my food.
