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“Uh.” I stared at him blankly, trying to recalibrate my thoughts. I couldn’t deny that my dick was already on board just at the sound of his voice, but this seemed sudden. “Maybe… Let’s have a drink first?”
Charlie nodded as he pushed inside. “Good idea. Hydration is important. I’ll get it. Have you taken anything?”
“Taken… I… no?” I rubbed my head some more and watched in confusion as he kicked off his shoes. Charlie Nutter was in my space. In my home. God, I liked that way too much.
He tilted his head and looked at me. “What do you want, Hunter?”
I opened and closed my mouth like a guppy. Was he asking…? “I… whatever you… I mean… huh?”
Charlie’s whole face twisted in sympathy. “You really must be sick.”
“I’m not sick,” I argued. But I frowned. He seemed so sure of himself it made me second-guess my own body. “I don’t think?”
“Stubborn,” Charlie sighed. He pushed the door closed, clasped my arm, and led me to the sofa, where he crouched on the floor between my knees and stared up at me. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” I managed. Very good when he shifted up and pressed himself against my knee. “I bumped my head a minute ago.”
“Tsk.” One cool hand touched my forehead as if checking for a fever, then pulled my own hand away from my bruised head so he could run gentle fingers over my scalp. “Are you light-headed? Do you think it might be a concussion?”
I hadn’t thought so. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
I grabbed his hand firmly in mine. “What’s happening right now? Why are you here?”
Charlie sank back onto his heels, but I couldn’t help but notice that his free hand rested on my thigh. His touch seared through the wash-worn flannel of my pajama pants and heated up my skin until it prickled.
“Alana told me you weren’t feeling well. I came to see if you needed help.”
I blinked at him. “I’m feeling fine. Why would she have…?” I closed my eyes with a groan. That meddling fucker.
“Sure you’re fine.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “Just like you were fine back in middle school baseball when you broke your wrist in the first inning and insisted on playing the rest of the game? You’re in so much pain you’re groaning, babe. Now, lie back and let me get you that drink and maybe a cold cloth for your head.”
Suddenly, I was hit by the giggles like a preteen. My giddy excitement over his unexpected visit, the typical nosy meddling by my sister, the utter rush of his proximity, his unexpected (and incredibly arousing) use of the word babe, and the absolute ridiculousness of this latest misunderstanding was too much after all the shit that had already happened in the last twenty-four hours. I laughed so hard it was hard to catch my breath.
Charlie stared at me. He seemed this close to calling emergency services to request immediate transport to the nearest hospital specializing in traumatic brain injuries.
“I bumped my head in the fridge,” I said, wiping my damp eyes. “It’s no big deal. Really.”
The concern in his expression didn’t fade. Instead, he reached out and took my head in his hands, palpating gently with his fingers again as if searching for a goose egg or, worse, a crater.
The massage felt good enough to make me contemplate faking an actual injury, but I wasn’t a good enough liar.
“I’m fine,” I said softly. “I promise. Alana lied to you, probably because she’s attempting to matchmake.” I stifled a groan and added breathlessly, “But feel free to keep doing that.”
Charlie’s eyes met mine, and the tension between us rocketed deep into my gut. Time seemed to trip up, like balding tires trying to find purchase in sticky mud. His eyes dipped to my mouth before moving slowly back up to meet mine. Pulling in oxygen got harder, and I lost control over the surface of my skin. The blood flow in my body sounded like the low, loud buzz of airplane engines, which was weird since so much of it seemed to be shooting south to my groin.
I licked the taste of his gaze from my lips as I imagined what it would feel like to lean forward and take his mouth in mine. Late-day whiskers shadowed his face, and I could almost hear the catch of his prickles in my beard.
His fingers moved down until his thumbs brushed my cheeks. He seemed to realize what he was doing because he yanked his hands away like they’d been burned. It made sense since I was sure my cheeks had returned to the default lava state they tended to enjoy when this particular man was around.
“Glad you’re okay,” he grumbled in a strangely rough voice. “I should, ah… probably…” He looked around as if confused about where he was before slowly standing up and turning toward the door. My heart thundered in panic.
