Page 103 of Perfect Harmony

“I said you were right and if you make mesay it again, there’s a Sunday afternoon spanking in your future.”

“Ooh, promises, promises, Sheriff,” she said.

She petted Tank and returned to her book.He continued to stand in the doorway and grin like an idiot at her. He couldn’thelp it. She’d only been staying with him for a few days but already it felt rightto him. Like she was meant to be with him.

She is, you moron. You telling her you onlywanted her to stay so you guys could fuck the tension away was a real dickmove. I’m surprised she didn’t slap you in the face and call you out on that happyhorseshit.

The smile dropped from his face. Fuck, hewas lucky. The proposal he’d made to Gracie was one made from desperation – hecouldn’t stand the idea of not being with her ever again – but that didn’t makeit any less horrible. Grace deserved a man who gave her every part of him unconditionally,and that wasn’t him.

Even if Kira didn’t lose her mind if sheknew about him and Grace, he could never truly let his guard down. Could neverlove Grace the way she deserved to be loved. Not when it meant she would die.

Therapy. Please, you asshole, get yourselfinto some therapy. Grace is not going to die just because you tell her youlove her.

“Gideon?” Grace was staring at him over herbook again. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. What do you think about steak fordinner? I can grill them.”

“Sure,” she said. “Are you sure everything’sokay?”

Before he could answer, the doorbell rang.Tank barked and jumped off the couch, making Grace yelp when his feet dug intoher stomach. He raced for the door, jumping and barking like the loveable idiothe was, as Gideon pushed past him.

“Tank. No.” He pushed at the dog’s flank.“To your bed, now.”

Gracie joined them and Tank slouched pasther, grumbling in the way that dogs did.

Gideon opened the door. Preacher wasstanding on the doorstep, his big hand digging into the door jamb, his face thecolour of rancid cheese.

Shit. He recognized that look. Keepinghis voice low, he said, “Come in, buddy.”

Preacher staggered into the house, clingingto the wall as he closed his eyes. “Shoulda called first. Sorry, man.”

“It’s okay,” Gideon barely spoke above awhisper.

“Preacher? What’s wrong?” Grace said.

Preacher winced, and Gideon held his fingerto his lips as he crouched and unlaced Preacher’s boots.

Grace crouched next to him. “Gideon,” she whispered,“what’s wrong with Preacher?”

“He’s got a migraine,” Gideon said. “Canyou give us a few minutes? I want to get him settled in the spare room.” Heknew Preacher hated anyone seeing him like this.

To his relief, Grace didn’t argue and returnedto the living room.

He helped Preacher remove his boots. “Canyou make it up the stairs?”

“Yeah,” Preacher grunted.

Keeping his eyes closed and his head down,he followed Gideon toward the stairs. Gideon kept a steadying hand on his arm.“We’re at the stairs.”

He helped Preacher up the stairs and into thespare room. He closed the blinds against the sunlight and helped Preacher stripdown to his boxer briefs. The tattoo artist laid down on the bed with a low groan.Gideon pulled the sheet and quilt to his waist. Preacher was sweating and Gideonswitched on the ceiling fan then headed to the guest bathroom.

He grabbed the small bucket that was underthe sink and brought it back to the room. Preacher was already sitting up onthe side of the bed, pain etched into his face, and his hand clamped over his mouth.

Gideon hurried over and handed him thebucket. As Preacher vomited into it, he ran back downstairs and grabbed thegel ice pack he kept in the freezer for exactly this reason. Gracie was in thekitchen making a cup of tea. “Is he okay?”

She winced when the sound of Preachervomiting drifted down the stairs. “Jesus. The poor guy.”

“I’ll be back,” Gideon said as he grabbed aclean dish towel from the drawer and a bottle of water from the fridge.

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