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"You’re right." I tuck my elbows into my sides. "Itisdifficult for me to accept help from anyone."
"Including me?" She peers up into my eyes. "Will you let me help you?"
65
Mira
He scooped me up in his arms and carried me inside our—his—okayourhome. I was feeling better, and wanted to tell him so, but I also sensed this need inside him to take care of me, so I let him. He carried me into the living room and placed me on the couch. Then, proceeded to fluff the cushions behind my head and pull a comforter over me. Then, he handed me my Kindle, along with a large glass of water he commanded me to drink and told me to occupy myself while he got my dinner.
Yep, he did order me there, like the bossy-pants he is, but it felt right. I barely read a couple of pages before he came back with a tray of food. He'd heated up the chicken soup—which he’d called ahead and asked his housekeeper to prepare. There was also crusty bread, which he buttered for me, and he made me eat it all as he watched. Then he gave me the medicine Doc Weston had prescribed—something safe, in case I am pregnant. I told Ed I was feeling better, but he’d hear none of it. He insisted I swallow it down, then offered me a cup of herbal tea.
When I finally lean back with a sigh, he slips onto the couch and replaces the cushion under my head with his thigh. For a few seconds, I lay there, once again, enjoying the feel of his firm flesh. I rub my palm over the silky material of his pants, and he places his much bigger palm over mine.
"Don’t," he murmurs.
"Why not?" I look up at him.
"Because we need to talk."
"I don’t want to talk," I pout.
His features soften. He pushes my hair back from my cheek and tucks the cover under my chin. "Tomorrow then."
"Okay," I murmur.
He begins to drag his thumb over my lower lip, then catches himself. "What do you want to watch?"
"Watch?"
"On the streamers. I have all of them."
"Anything romantic, like—"
He groans, "Don’t tell meThe Notebook."
"—The Notebook." I nod.
He rubs the back of his neck. "Okay."
I blink. "You don’t mind watchingThe Notebookwith me?"
"There’s a first for everything, I suppose." He raises a shoulder.
"You’ve never seenThe Notebook?"
"Not my normal taste, but I've heard about it, like it's the most romantic movie ever."
"It is," I agreed with a smile.
"Also I’ve been… Otherwise occupied for a lot of my life."
"You took your role as a priest seriously, didn’t you?"
He hesitates, then rubs at his stubbled cheek. The sound of his nails over his whiskers pulses goosebumps over my skin. Oh, my gosh, I’ll never not be attracted to him. And at some point, he discarded his jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves so the tendons of his veiny arms flex. And everyone knows, forearm-porn is the easiest way to turn on a girl. Also, he’s still wearing his vest, and the way it contours the planes of his chest should be banned.
"—Belle, you okay?"
"Yes, of course, why do you ask?" I clear my throat.
