Grant squashed the vision with a fast head shake. “In the end, Elijah ended up having to do that too—so I could stay with you. Which, of course, I now owe him for, and in a big way.”
“Oh no.” I giggled harder. “What happened?”
“I don’t think they will be exchanging Christmas cards anytime soon, let’s just put it that way.” He loaded a piece of quiche on his plate and looked to me in question. I shrugged, and he dished me a piece before continuing. “Apparently, Elijah’s allergic to cats.”
My mouth dropped open. A new gasp tumbled out. “And he didn’t tell you?”
“He didn’t know,” Grant protested.
“Well, crap,” I muttered. “I guess he does now?” I slanted a questioning glance his way. “And do I want to know why you’re getting so much entertainment out of that?”
“Just the mental image he painted when we talked. Banks is a tough guy, as you’ve probably figured out by now. The fact that a little fluffy kitty had him sneezing and wheezing and breaking out in hives on his model-perfect skin? I don’t know… It cracks me up.”
I just shook my head, grinning as he laughed harder, telling me the details.
“Makes me sound like an asshole, huh?” He looked abashed, trying to school his features.
“Not really. I’ve seen the way you guys go at each other.”
“Are you going to eat any of that or just push it from one side of your plate to the other?” Grant asked, abruptly changing the subject and bringing the attention to the food I’d been toying with. My stomach just wasn’t interested in the fluffy egg pie in front of me.
“Oh, here we go,” I said, putting my fork down with a clatter.
“Blaze.” He sighed, setting his own fork down with careful grace compared to my toddler tantrum style. “I’ve said a few times now, this trip is about you relaxing and getting away from the stressors back in LA. But there are a few things I’m going to have to insist on.” He held his hand up to tick off the items—finger by long, capable, sexy, and strong finger.
I shook my head a bit to refocus my concentration. Pretty sure his fingers’ talents weren’t going to be on the list he was about to lay out for me.
“You with me, Blaze?” He chuckled and waited for me to respond. All he got was my best glower, however. He knew damn well what he was doing to me. Scrambling my brain and my libido until I didn’t know which one to listen to anymore.
“Can you swim?” I asked breezily.
“You want to go swimming? Now?” He sounded genuinely confused. Not a tone I was treated to very often with this guy.
“No. That’s not what I asked.”
He thought for a second before answering, “Yeah, I can swim. Why?” He tilted his head a bit, trying to figure out where I was headed with my question.
“Because I’m going to push your ass overboard when you least expect it. And by the time anyone notices you’re gone? You’ll have to swim farther than humanly possible, and it will be the perfect crime.” I dusted my palms together over my plate as if getting rid of crumbs and then showed him how clean they were. Innocent until proven guilty, I mouthed to him, exactly like he had to me earlier.
But instead of being alarmed by my threat, he threw his head back and laughed. That hearty, carefree, spirited laugh with his face tilted up toward the sun in worship.
The kind of careless spirit I envied every time I saw it in another person. And Grant Twombley possessed it in spades. Maybe it’s why I was so attracted to him? I hoped just a little of it would rub off on me. A little of that attitude would rain down on me when he seemed to have more than enough to go around. It was infectious.
Wait. No. I was not attracted to this man.
Those traitorous thoughts needed to stay far, far away from my brain and my body at the moment.
As he tempered his laughter to some mild snickering, I expelled a long sigh. Then gave in to an easy smile.
“All right,” I finally said. “Fine. Let’s hear your fancy boat rules.” Like an eager student, I primly folded my hands in front of my plate. But hey, look, no more bites of egg I didn’t want in the first place.
He rolled his eyes but copied my pose. “All right, then. Rule one: you have to eat. I’m talking actual food, at least three times a day.”
I stared at his index finger standing tall against the azure horizon. Christ, how many torturous rules would I have to endure? If I just nodded along, I’d get this over with quicker and could keep my mind in a safe zone.
I picked up my fork and briskly shoveled another bite of egg into my mouth. I bugged out my eyes and gave him a cheeky smile while I chewed, mumbling “mmmmm!” around the enormous bite I’d just stuffed inside.
Grant shot up a second finger. “You will sleep. I don’t care when. But you will sleep at least eight hours total in a twenty-four-hour period. And yes, I’m going to keep track. You need to get back into a healthy sleeping pattern, and if we can do that on this trip without other distractions, you’ll thank me for it when we get back home.”
I swallowed my food just in time to protest. “Grant, you know how hard that is for me. You can’t just tell someone to sleep and it magically happens. You’ve slept with me before.”
Christ. Wrong choice of words.
“You know what I mean,” I offered while waving my hand frantically.
“Oh, I know what you mean, baby. And I look forward to that too. But right now, I’m talking about sleeping for restoration. You need that more than anything else. Stop trying to change the subject.”
My mouth fell open at his brazen remark, but I couldn’t organize a response before he was on to a third demand. Now, his ring finger joined the first two. It had a crooked bend to it at the second knuckle that I hadn’t noticed before, almost like it had been broken and never healed right.
He turned his body more toward me before speaking. “This last one you’re not going to like. But Rio, it has to be addressed.” Grant took a deep breath, and I knew he was nervous about what he was about to say. “Because I don’t ever want to relive one single part of yesterday as long as I live. I don’t want you to either. You scared the living shit out of me, Rio Gibson. Do you hear me? I will never unsee the look on your face when I busted into that damn hospital room.”
He swallowed so roughly, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. The distraction was only momentary, because my protest was already forming on my lips.
“Grant—”
“No!” he said firmly. “I won’t accept bullshit on this, girl. I’m serious. I know you have demons. I get that. I accept that. Hell, I fucking understand that. But you have to let me help you. You have to talk to me about what’s going on inside here.” He carefully leaned forward and tapped on my temple. “You have to at least start by talking to me.”
“Fine,” I finally conceded. “It’s just us out here, after all.”
“That’s right. And when we get back to Los Angeles, you have to talk to someone who knows how to help you for real.” He paused again and then finished with, “A mental health professional.”
I shot up from the table with a protest forming on my tongue.