Page 10 of Lost in You (The Monroes 3)

She jerked away and turned back to the desk. Pulling in a deep breath, she tried to regain some of her courage and focus on what she came to do. The ache now turned into a throb she might not be able to ignore for much longer.

“Don’t dig into my life if you don’t want anyone digging into yours.”

With shaky hands, she gathered the invoices and tapped the edges on the desk to make them all neat and orderly. She needed control of something right now, even if it was these stupid papers.

“Want to share stories?” he asked.

She nearly called him on the rhetorical question. What would he say if she came out and told him what she’d been through? What would he say if he knew she’d never told another soul what happened to her that night? She might not wear her scars on the outside, but she had plenty on the inside.

“I want you to stop being a jerk,” she told him as she turned back around. “Obviously you’re not used to people caring about you, so I’ll try not to make that mistake again.”

Something flashed through his eyes. Regret, guilt, fear? Maybe all three, but the emotion was gone as fast as it had come.

“That’s for the best.” He delivered his reply as he turned and walked out.

That was it? He wasn’t going to say anything else? What on earth was going on in his head? What had just happened? Seriously. Because her entire system had gone into overload in the past twenty minutes. Between being wrapped in his arms, held by his strong grip, and stared at with such intensity, Macy didn’t even know how she should react. She prided herself on keeping the upper hand when it came to men—she had to—but Liam rocked her world in ways no one had before, and she didn’t like it. Okay . . . she did. But she didn’t like being so emotionally confused when her body was so revved up.

In all honesty, the crazy ambiance and invisible pull was most likely why Liam had made his exit. Maybe he wasn’t sure how to respond either, so leaving was the best option.

Macy sank into the old wooden chair. Propping her elbows on the desk, she rubbed her temples and concentrated on deep breaths. That stupid migraine was coming back full force. Trying to come into work tonight was obviously a complete waste. She’d felt fine when she’d left home, was able to tolerate the dull ache when she’d first arrived, but she was at a point where she needed to get back, take her medicine, and get into bed.

Liam Monroe was throwing her for a complete loop. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream at him or grab him and kiss him.

Both. She wanted to do both.

The sharp pain shooting from behind her eyes had her reaching blindly to click the lamp off. Stress tended to exacerbate these migraines and she really didn’t know what she was so stressed about lately. Day-to-day responsibilities hadn’t really increased once she took over. She’d always worked at the store, but now that she was the sole owner, maybe she was doing more so she could give her dad the time off he so deserved. And she didn’t want to let him down.

As the third generation owner, she wanted the next few decades to be just as successful as in the past. She wanted her father to be proud. Regardless of the fact that this wasn’t necessarily her dream job, she was here and she’d do the job she was supposed to do.

Macy continued to massage her head in a vain attempt to ease the pressure. Her purse with her medicine was out at the counter where she’d dropped everything when she first came in. Now she just needed to get to it.

Maybe if she just rested for a moment. Macy folded her arms and lay her head down, keeping her eyes closed.

The soft brush of footsteps in the room was her only warning before familiar arms banded around, this time lifting her from the seat. She must’ve fallen asleep, because she was a bit confused as to where she was for the briefest of moments.

Macy whimpered as the movement jarred her head. She hadn’t realized how fast and how far gone she was. Apparently the rest hadn’t done a thing to help her state.

Leaning against Liam’s bare, broad chest was a comfort she hadn’t even known she was seeking. With her eyes closed, she leaned against his warmth and let him carry her away. That dizzying state of sleepiness continued to envelop her.

“You shouldn’t have come in if you’re that tired.”

“Migraine,” she whispered.

“Do you have medicine?” he asked, his voice low, caring.

“My purse. By the front counter.”

She couldn’t say more, couldn’t move. Nausea started to build as it did when she got these sudden attacks. She only prayed she wouldn’t toss her cookies all over Liam.

He barely slowed as they passed by the front counter. Then he kept going and was heading up to the second story.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, humiliation sweeping through her.

Liam didn’t say a word, just carried her up the steps as if she weighed nothing. When she felt better she’d appreciate his masculine skills and the fact he wasn’t even breathing hard. A strong man didn’t have to be scary; strength could be extremely sexy. Again, something she’d have to analyze later, when thinking didn’t feel like a jackhammer in her head.

Moments later he eased her down. A bed, she realized as she brought an arm up to cover her face. She could tell from the direction he’d walked when she heard him from downstairs that he was sleeping in her old room, and the cool sheets smelled like him, all manly and rugged.

Sounds registered around her: Liam shuffling from the room, coming back, rummaging through her purse, shaking the pill bottle.

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