Page 31 of You First
“Oh, thank God.” Her knees turned to rubber, and she might have swayed.
At her voice, Gray flipped over, his eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing in here?”
“I…”
Tangled in the bed sheets, shirtless, he looked nothing like his picture. The photos she’d seen online the day before showed someone handsome but refined… serious…stone-faced.Staring into the camera in a tailored suit, author Gray Blakewood had looked composed and controlled. The man who lay before her now was masculine beauty unbound.
A mess of dark hair, corded muscles in his neck and shoulders, and stunning blue eyes made her forget why she was there.
Until she noticed he was frowning at her.
“I…” she tried again, but he narrowed his eyes further, looking pissed, and Meredith felt her blood ice over.
“Oh God,” he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his forehead and closing his eyes. “What time is it?”
She took a breath to speak. She’d come in for a reason. A good reason. What was it?
“It’s after eleven… I was worried about you,” she blurted. He didn’t move or respond, his eyes still shut. Meredith forced herself to breathe evenly. She’d had every reason to be concerned. This was her job after all.
In the silence of the room, her eyes drifted down for an instant before she made them snap back up to his face.
Do not look at his chest. Do not look at his chest.
Meredith looked at his chest.
Unlike Jamie, who had a carpet of coarse, light brown fur that covered him from pecs to pelvis, Gray’s chest and abs were completely smooth. And noticeably defined. His skin was a light olive, shades darker than her own milk-white complexion, and the color reminded her of polished willow.
Standing in her boss’s bedroom comparing his naked chest to hardwoods wasn’t a wise choice, and Meredith knew this as soon as she glanced up to find him watching her. He hadn’t moved. He still clutched his forehead in both hands, but his eyes were open now, and their corners lifted with undisguised humor.
“Are you okay? Can I get you something?” she managed, knowing that her cheeks colored even as she asked.
Gray ran his hands through his dark hair before sitting up against the headboard. He glanced at the clock, shook his head with a look of disgust, and met her eyes again. “I didn’t mean to sleep this late. I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” The humor was gone, replaced with what Meredith thought was pain or frustration. “If you need to go, I totally understand.”
She blinked in surprise. “I don’t need to go. This is my job.” She tried to sound more sure of herself. “What do you need?”
He gave a weak laugh. “I think I need to get dressed.” She watched his fingers flex as he massaged his forehead. He was clearly in pain. “And I need to take something else for my head. And coffee. I need coffee.”
Meredith nodded and backed toward the door. “I can start the coffee.” She pointed to the collection of prescription and OTC bottles on his bedside table. “Do you have everything you need there, or can I get something for you?”
Gray looked at his meds and back at her with an eye roll, but his cheeks flushed. “I’ve got a whole pharmacy here,” he joked with a noticeable lack of mirth. “I should be able to find something.”
Meredith hid her wince. She’d embarrassed him without meaning to. She understood then that she had to walk a fine line between helping him and invading his privacy if she was going to keep her boss happy.
He sat up straighter in bed, and Meredith noticed the way he kept the blankets drawn tight around his middle.Is he naked under there?She almost squeaked again and sped to the door.
“Meredith?”
She stopped and chanced a look back at him. “Yes?”
He smiled at her for the first time. Really smiled. And it was lethal. “I’m glad we’ve finally met… in person, I mean.”
She nodded because, for a moment, that was all she could do. “Yeah… me too.”
Leaving his room, she headed for the kitchen. She had a job to do, and she had to focus. A megawatt smile and a beautiful… smooth… sculpted chest were all very lovely, but he was her boss, and he was sick, and she was here to help him.
As soon as she found the tin of Cafe Bustelo in his refrigerator, Meredith heard the shower. At least he felt well enough to get up. She wondered again about his condition. Did people with uncontrolled epilepsy have chronic headaches? Was there something else that compounded his symptoms? Like post-concussive syndrome?
That was easy enough to imagine. If he’d hit his head badly or — as his brother Baxter suggested — repeatedly, he could be dealing with long term trauma.
