Page 46 of Irresistibly Risky

“Great!”

She tilts her head and stares straight into my eyes. “You took the pain meds.”

“You told me to.”

She places a hand on my face, her fingers cool as they run along my cheek up to my forehead. Even in my somewhat numb state, her touch electrifies me from within. That can’t be a coincidence. Reacting to the way someone touches you—even in the most innocuous ways—has to mean something.

The fact that she’s here, with my son, has to mean something.

“You need to rest, Asher.” Her voice is laced with worry, but is it the worry of a doctor caring for her patient or a woman caring for a man she’s catching feelings for? “You had surgery this morning. Let’s go sit somewhere, and I’ll take him out of this. You can hang out with him while I get his dinner ready.” Then she pauses. “Crap. No highchair.” She rubs her forehead in dismay. “I didn’t think this through carefully at all. Maybe we should just—”

“I have a highchair.”

She pauses and peeks up at me through her lashes like I just told her aliens landed in the Public Gardens. “You do?”

“I do.” I beam a smile at her because she’s here and he’s here, and how cool is that? “I have a lot of things. Can I show you? I want to show you. Put those heavy things down. We can deal with them later.”

By some miracle, she listens and sets them on the floor. Even as she narrows her eyes. “How many of those pills did you take?”

“Only one, but this is why I never did drugs.”

She grimaces. “Sorry. You’re a big guy. I wrote you for a full dose. Take half next time.”

“I plan to, but for real, I want to show you and Mason what I did in anticipation of you moving in.” And hopefully staying. Wariness creases her features, but she follows me as I walk—albeit like an old man with limited strength—in the direction of the guest wing of my apartment. “Cal was impressed, and he’s an emergency room doctor, so I think that counts for a lot. You’ll notice all the outlets are covered in those plastic protective things, and there is a gate at the bottom and the top of the stairs, and there is a brand-new deadbolt completely out of a child’s reach on the rooftop door.”

“Asher—”

“Not yet, okay?” I glance over my shoulder at her. “Just please, not yet.”

Her lips mash together, and she continues to follow me as we move down the long hallway, stopping first at the new playroom.

“My assistant had a lot of fun with this room,” I tell her as I open the door, and Mason immediately starts kicking and thrashing in his stroller, anxious to get out and play, which I take to mean he loves it.

“Asher!” My name again, only this time with a lot of inflection. “When did you do all of this?”

I lean against the door for support and watch her face. She’s covered her mouth with her hands, and her eyes are wide. “I texted Freddy this morning after you told me you’d move in with me.”

Her head swivels in my direction. “Freddy?”

“My assistant.”

“You have an assistant?”

I smirk at her surprise. “Of course I have an assistant. I have an assistant, a publicist, an agent, a lawyer, and security when needed. I’m a professional football player, sweetheart and before that, I was a rock star. I have interests and a brand to protect.”

She grins. “I’m impressed. And this room…” she trails off, because yeah, this room is something. The hardwood floors are covered in brightly colored interlocking foam puzzle pieces with the alphabet and numbers one through twenty on them. There is a small playscape—really just a few steps and a slide—a jumpy thing, a house that he can crawl through that also sings to him, a television for when he watches his signing videos, and more toys than he’ll likely ever use.

“There’s more.”

I lead us back into the hallway and point down the hall at the room at the end. “That’s your room, and yes, it’s decorated. I didn’t know if you had furniture or anything, but Freddy loves Restoration Hardware and bought a lot of pretty stuff for you. You also have your own bathroom.”

She’s silent, her eyes on the door, and I can tell she’s got a lot going on in that pretty head of hers. But I’m not done yet, and I know this will likely trip her up the most. I walk across the hall from the playroom and open the door.

“This is for Mason. I didn’t have time for them to paint it, but we can do that later.”

She steps into the room and gasps. “Asher!”

Again with my name, which I’ll never grow tired of hearing her say, but I’m hoping that sound is a good one. This room has a crib with a cool mobile of exotic animals overhead, a plush rocking chair, a dresser with a changing table on it, and a bookshelf filled with kids' books. There are also pictures on the wall, and though I had asked Freddy to do football, he overrode me and went with a safari theme.

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