Page 38 of You Complicate Me

So much for trying to preserve her dignity. “I was just afraid you’d stop if I moved or said anything.”

She snorted with laughter, then moaned and pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh, maybe I spoke too soon about that whole not-dying thing.”

“Headache?”

“Yeah.”

Nick stood up and rolled his neck from one side to the other, then gave his arms a shake, willing the blood to start flowing through them instead of pooling uselessly in his groin. When he could feel his hands again, he grabbed Grace a couple of aspirins from his overnight bag.

He twisted the cap off a water bottle and handed it to her, along with the aspirins. “Gage said last night that if you kept some water down, I could give you these if you needed them. Then, if those stay down, we can start on food.”

She grumbled, but took the aspirins. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat again.”

He sat back down on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair back off her forehead. “Yeah, I had food poisoning once and thought the same thing. You’ll be back to normal by tomorrow. You’re tough, Grace Montgomery.”

She blinked up at him. “I am?”

“Had to be to survive dinner last night. And I’m not talking about the bisque.”

She laughed outright this time. “That was typical. Nothing special at all.”

He couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to her mouth, and he heard her breath catch. “No, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, his voice even lower and rougher than usual. “There’s nothing typical about you, Grace.”

Chapter Eighteen

It was actually three days before Grace felt well enough to venture out into the world.

Guess she wasn’t as tough as Nick thought she was.

But despite it all—the vomiting, the endless binge watching on Netflix, which she knew he hated, being stuck in bed, her being practically tethered to the toilet—Nick never left her side.

They’d only known each other a few days, and yet, she felt closer to Nick than she could remember ever feeling to Brad—or any other man in her life, for that matter. She knew it was insane. There was no such thing as love at first sight. And yet…

He’d taken care of her time and time again. He could’ve left her with Gage, or let her parents take care of her. But he’d stuck with her for days in a room that smelled like stale air and vomit, talked to her, kept her company, made her laugh and feel desirable, even when she knew she was hell and gone from looking her best. And then there was the way he looked at her.

Nick looked at her like she was priceless. The most incredible thing he’d ever seen. No one had ever looked at her like that. No one.

She’d even gotten over her embarrassment at waking up draped over him every morning. It seemed her body just took whatever it wanted during the night.

Every night, she went to sleep on her side of the bed. And every morning, she woke up in the same position: splayed across Nick’s chest with her face buried in the crook of his neck.

There was always a moment before she was fully awake, before her brain told her she should pull away from him, when she was just able to feel. Feel safe and warm in his arms. Feel turned on by the slide of his warm skin against hers. Feel the possessive way that, even in his sleep, he cupped the back of her head in one hand, and her ass in the other.

It was her favorite part of the day.

Her favorite part of the night? Well, that was entirely different. And much dirtier.

Her brain had treated her to countless wet dreams over the past few days. All X-rated, all starring Nick. The one that kept recurring was Nick in the shower, water sluicing over miles and miles of tanned muscles as she fell to her knees in front of him and wrapped her lips around the long, smooth length of his…

“Grace, honey, are you feeling OK? You’re all flushed and sweaty-looking.”

Her mother’s voice was the equivalent of face-planting into a snow drift, reminding her that she was in Sadie’s room and shouldn’t really be having sexual fantasies about Nick while the poor kid tried on her wedding dress. Her body instantly chilled back to its normal temperature. “I’m fine, Mom.”

If only her panties were as dry as her tone, she thought wryly.

“She’s thinking about that Irishman,” Grandma Ruthie said. She pulled a tissue out of her bra and honked into it. “I can tell by the stupid smile on her face.”

Her mother looked nervous. “Grace, I’m not sure I like this O’Connor boy,” she said quietly, presumably so that Sadie, who was trying on her wedding dress in the bathroom, couldn’t hear.

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