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He looked over at me, his face still lined with worry and frustration. This unexpected kindness was jarring but comforting. How tragic that he kept this part of him locked behind several layers of defenses. His feelings were deeper than most, and he was intensely protective of the people he cared about. Did he care about me too? Thinking about it made my heart flutter a tiny bit.
Because having that protective instinct turned on me, if that’s what this was, made my chest ache with affection.
I wasn’t used to being cared for. Other than Liv, I didn’t have a lot of people I could count on.
But this was comforting. To know I wasn’t suffering alone.
The room was dark and cool, and he’d loaded me up with plush blankets. Like he’d done his research and discovered the best way to accommodate a person suffering through a migraine.
“I’m here,” he said, reaching for a large stainless steel water bottle. “You need to stay hydrated.”
I propped myself up and took it from his hand. My throat was dry, and the cool water felt amazing.
“What else can I do?”
“Nothing,” I said, sinking back into the pillows once more.
“Okay. I’m going to sleep on the floor. That way I’m here if you need anything.”
“Don’t sleep on the floor,” I protested. “Come up here.”
“Okay.”
The bed shifted as he settled next to me. Then his body heat radiated from the other side of the bed, and I eased into its comfort. So often, I’d spend days in a dark room alone, trying to get through this.
He said nothing. He sat silently by, but that was more than enough. Just the company of another person when the pain was unbearable. For once, I wasn’t on my own. And the realization sent a little bit of my walls crumbling.
* * *
When I woke up, I finally felt human again. The sharp, pounding pain had settled into a dull, manageable ache, and I was starving. As I stretched, rolling to my back, I caught sight of Paz propped up against a massive pile of pillows, typing away on his laptop.
“What time is it?” I croaked.
He checked his watch. “Ten thirty.”
“A.m.?”
“Yes. It’s Wednesday.”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
The typing stopped, and he examined me, his gaze feeling especially sharp. “Because there was no way I was leaving you. I can work from here.” With that, he turned back to his laptop and resumed typing as I rubbed my eyes and processed the last almost twenty-four hours.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I really put you out. You had to take care of me, give up your bed, and miss work.”
“It’s no problem. I’d never leave my fake girlfriend to suffer alone.” He smirked. With his mussed hair and the plain white T-shirt and sweats he had on, I had never seen him look so casual and relaxed.
“Right. Of course,” I croaked. Silly me, imagining there was meaning behind his actions.
“You’re not just the PI I hired and my fake girlfriend. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re my friend too. I was worried about you.”
His dark eyes were soft, and his forehead was furrowed in concern rather than annoyance for once. Shit, that look made my belly do a tiny flip. He was sexy when he was cold and grumpy, but like this? Worried and sweet and helpful? Hot damn. If I wasn’t recovering from a vicious migraine and rocking three-days-without-a-shower hair, I’d have a difficult time controlling myself.
“Now,” he asked, snapping his laptop shut. “How do we get you back to full strength?”
