My body shot straight and my eyes shot to his.
He grinned and kept speaking
“Feels good though.”
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Then his eyes changed. Those beautiful blue eyes with their russet tipped lashes. They changed in a way I also wouldn’t forget. Not ever. I’d remember them every day, dozens of times a day for the rest of my life.
And they changed to become just like his voice had been. Gentle to the point of tender.
“Don’t be,” he whispered back.
My heart started slamming in my chest.
What was with me?
I had to pull myself together.
So I pulled myself together and kept gently dabbing, cleaned the cut, cleaned away the blood then expertly cut the plasters, pressed together the opened flesh and laid the three, thin, precisely cut strips to keep it closed.
Then I took a step back and declared, “Done.”
His eyes captured mine.
“Made fast work of that.”
I made no response.
His eyes held mine.
“Practice,” he guessed accurately.
I turned to the first aid kit and started tidying.
I felt Gray come to his feet beside me; he tagged the used wipes and their packages and took them to the sink. He opened the cupboard under them, tossed them in the bin there, closed it and turned to me.
“Bed,” he stated.
I nodded.
“I’ll show you your room.”
“Okay,” I replied.
He led, I followed and he turned off lights as he did. He moved up the stairs, me trailing.
Upstairs, same as downstairs, settled, warm, welcome and everything had been there awhile.
He turned left at the top and took me to a room where the lights were on, shining softly and invitingly into the hall. He disappeared through the door and I followed him to see he’d stopped.
“Bathroom other end of the hall, last door on your right,” he told me then he invited, “Make yourself at home.”
I tore my eyes from the room with its white-painted, curlicue iron bed (tall head and tall but still shorter than the head foot) covered in an unbelievably beautiful wedding ring quilt, a folded soft looking blanket at the bottom and big fluffy pillows with ruffly edges. The room’s floors warm, honeyed wood covered in a big, thick, pastel-colored rug with tangled fringe at two sides, its colors faded but it had started pastel too, I could tell. Jumbled mismatched furniture, some painted white but there were chips, some gleaming wood, all charming and one dresser had a big, oval mirror affixed to the top. On the nightstands, both turned on and glowing, tall, thin lamps with dotted, glass balls as lampshades, crystals dangling from the bottom. And on the walls, prints of flowers in frames distressed from age, not meant to be that way.
It was countrified beauty at its finest. A room you’d expect in a farmhouse. A room you’d pay big money to rent in some B&B because the owners had paid big money to make it that way. A room that was just that enchanting naturally.
“Sleep well, Ivey,” Gray muttered.
I nodded.
He lifted a hand, curled his long fingers on my upper arm, gave me a squeeze and walked out the door.
I sucked in another breath.
Then I pulled it together, moved to the door and closed it.
Then I decided to get ready for bed fast, get in bed, turn off the lights, close my eyes and try to erase this from my mind.
Tomorrow, he’d take me back to the hotel. Tomorrow, I’d pack our stuff. Tomorrow, Casey would come back, we’d load up the car and we’d be away.
Mustang would be in our rearview mirrors.
Mustang would be a memory.
And so would Gray.
I moved directly to the bag Gray left sitting on top of the bed and did just that.
In my nightshirt with my face wash, toothbrush, toothpaste and a hair clip, I shot out the door and moved quickly down the hall, eyes to my feet. I didn’t want to take anymore in. Couldn’t take anymore in.
And you know what stunk?
Looking at my feet, I still saw the carpet runner that ran down the hall, attractively worn and frayed in the middle where feet had trod a million times but near-to new looking at the edge and, beyond, more of that warm, honey-colored wood floor.
Yes, even the floor was warm and welcoming.
Hells bells.
I made it to the end of the hallway, the door to the bathroom slightly closed, light on. I pushed in, stepped in, lifted my head and stopped dead.
Gray, wearing nothing (nothing!) but a pair of light blue cotton, drawstring pajama bottoms, toothbrush in mouth turned to me.
Oh my.
Oh my.
His shoulders were broad. His chest was wide.
And…and…
Did real men actually look like that?
I mean, my brother Casey was relatively fit. He was lean. He did pushups and sit ups a lot. He thought of himself as a ladies’ man and he got enough action, he probably was.
But he didn’t have all those planes and contours. Especially not across his belly.
And he didn’t have those veins running down his arms.
Oh my.
“Big enough to share.” I heard Gray say and my body jolted, my eyes shot from his chest to his face and I saw he had his toothbrush out, foam in his mouth and he’d shifted to the side of the sink.
How on earth could a man have toothbrush foam in his mouth and look just…that…beautiful?
“Ivey?” he called and I blinked but didn’t move. “Dollface, you okay?”
No. I was not.
But I had to pretend to be.
“Just a weird night,” I murmured, trying to decide if it was rude if I said I’d come back and left him to it.
I hadn’t been a guest in someone’s house. Not ever.
What was protocol?
As for me, if someone barged in on me brushing my teeth, I would expect them to slink away.
He kept brushing, eyes on me and kept to his side of the sink. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it and his behavior seemed to be inviting me in.
Maybe it was rude.
Darn.
I moved in and went to the sink.
I put the stuff down on the side of the basin, keeping my body to my side as far from his as I could. I lifted my hands and gathered my hair, twisted it then sunk the clip in to hold it back. I felt it flopping all around the clip but it was away from my face so I could wash it.
I carefully shifted to the front of the sink (thus closer to Gray), bent over the basin and turned it on.
“Jesus, honest to God, I’ve never seen that much hair,” a still with foam in his mouth Gray noted and my neck twisted, my eyes lifting to his face.
“Sorry?”
“You got a lot of hair, darlin’,” he said through the foam.