Page 50 of Memphis

“Don’t,” he cut me off. “It’s getting late. You’ve got a report to do.”

“Okay.” I stood and stepped away from the bed. “If you need anything...”

“I won’t.”

His curt response stung a little, but I got the hint and left.

I went to my room and tried to work on my report, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss and how good it felt to have Weston’s lips on mine. It was just as amazing as the first time we’d kissed, and I couldn’t shake the desire to do it all over again.

I couldn’t let that happen, so over the next week, I did my best to avoid any major interaction with him. I kept my nose buried in my work, and every so often, I checked on him and gave him his meds. Even then, I barely spoke and rushed out before he had a chance to say anything. It was silly. I knew I couldn’t keep it up, but I didn’t know what else to do. If I got too close, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist the urge to do things I had no business doing.

It was torture, and it didn’t help matters that, every time he was around, he’d have that sexy, little smirk on his stupidly handsome face. He was enjoying the effect that he was having on me, and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking.

It got to the point that I wouldn’t even look at him, but that didn’t stop him from eyeballing me every chance he got. I could literally feel the heat of his stare scorching my skin whenever I walked in or out of the room. The whole thing was ridiculous.

It was just a silly kiss.

It wasn’t even our first.

Damn. I needed to get my act together and remember why I was really there. I needed to help him get back on his feet so we both could get on with our lives.

With that in mind, I left my reports one night and went into the living room to see if he was ready for a bite to eat. When I walked in, I found him sitting on the floor doing one of his many workouts. Each morning, one of the guys would come by and take him to therapy, but those sessions didn’t seem to be enough for him anymore and he’d spend another couple of hours working out at home.

And he worked out hard.

My eyes took on a life of their own and slowly roamed over his muscular body. He was quite the specimen. He was all rugged with his three-day-old beard and tousled, sweaty hair.

Damn.

He looked so good with his flushed cheeks and bulging forearms.

When I finally stopped ogling, I realized he was staring at me with one of his smirks. “Can I help you with something?”

“I ah... I was... I just wanted to see if you were hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat.” His smile widened. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking something simple.” I gave him a shrug. “A BLT or a grilled cheese?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Which one?”

“Whatever. Surprise me.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I went to the kitchen and made us both a sandwich. By the time I returned, he was off the floor and sitting in his recliner. I wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there without help, but I didn’t ask him about it. I simply placed his sandwich and drink on the table next to him. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“Nope. This’ll do it.”

He held my gaze, and I could tell by his expression that he had something on his mind. Fearing I might not want to hear what he had to say, I quickly replied, “I don’t know if you saw, but we have a bad storm coming our way.”

“I saw.”

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