Page 5 of Grant
Rylan hung up, giving Grant no chance to thank him. But Grantwasgrateful. That their team was still together. That they’d stopped Fritz from selling Knightdale Court and had turned it into their home and business as intended. And that Spencer’s story had one more leg to stand on.
It made for an easier life.
Chapter Three
Thegreenbeansweredone. The coconut rice was getting there. Spencer snagged a fourth champagne truffle from the open box and popped it into his mouth. The crisp chocolate shell cracked between his teeth, and he had to stop himself from moaning when the creamy filling caressed his tongue. Dinner was only minutes away, but freshly made chocolates were a temptation too far. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d demolished the entire box in one night.
Not today, though. Today he’d share dinner with Grant and enjoy deep dish cookies for dessert.
“Come on, you beauties.” Spencer lifted the salmon fillets from their marinade and slid them under the grill, enjoying the sudden hit of lemon and ginger in the air.
“That smells wonderful.”
The voice came from the kitchen door, where Grant leaned, watching him cook. Were all bodyguards this gorgeous, or had he drawn the lucky straw? “Dinner’s ready in five.”
“Right. Need help with anything?”
Far from feeling uncomfortable about having a stranger in his home, Spencer felt so relaxed, he was almost floating. Strange. Lack of sleep had never affected him this way. “Cutlery and wine glasses.” He pointed. “Wine is in the fridge door.”
Spencer plated their dinners. He enjoyed being part of a couple, loved the way two men shared space and work. It was the reason he hadn’t ended things with Carlo as soon as he showed his true colours. Not that he and Grant were a couple, of course, but the dynamic was the same and Spencer let himself enjoy it.
He carried the plates into the living room, where Grant was pouring wine, and joined him at the table.
“You don’t have to cook for me. You know that, right?” Grant held up his glass and let the sun sparkle in the pale liquid.
Spencer watched him. The slow, deliberate way in which Grant spun the wineglass was mesmerising. It snared his gaze as if by magic.
It slowed his thoughts, too.
“I enjoy cooking,” he managed, when Grant raised an eyebrow in question. “I rarely get the chance to cook for two. Let me make the most of it.”
“Then why aren’t you enjoying your creation?”
“I … what?” Spencer tore his eyes from Grant and the spinning wineglass and blinked the swirling room to rights. In front of him, his plate of salmon, beans, and rice sat untouched. “Oh, I … got distracted.” He picked up his cutlery, fumbling the knife.
“You’re so busy taking care of me, you forgot yourself.”
Spencer shrugged off the criticism. Taking care of people was his job, and he was happy to continue the caretaking at home. Especially for a house guest like Grant.
“And you told me you weren’t a good cook, when this coconut rice is epic! In fact, the entire dinner is…”
Spencer swayed in his seat as the ringing in his ears drowned out Grant’s praise. His vision wavered, blurred as if he was watching Grant through a rain-streaked window.
Unease trickled down his spine.
“Doc? Spencer! Are you okay?”
Grant’s face came closer, spun in a few sickening circles, and then settled.
“Doc, are you okay?”
“I feel…” He assessed his body’s responses and alarm—the professional kind—sliced through him in a red-hot wave. It pushed the swirling fog aside for long enough to ask a question. “Do you feel sick? Dizzy? Drowsy?”
Grant shook his head. “Not at all. Why?”
“Because I think…” The next wave of dizziness swallowed the thoughts, replaced them with a bout of heaving nausea. Hands clamped over his mouth, Spencer battled through both, fought for clarity. “Poisoned,” he managed. “I think I’ve been poisoned.”
“Damn it!” Grant was out of his chair so fast he sent it flying. He pulled Spencer upright and shook him. “Talk to me, Doc!”
