The chilled cloth was laid across my forehead. I sighed. "Thanks, that feels great."
“When I called Sierra and told her I wanted to surprise you, she told me she’d sent you home but I didn’t realize you were sick."
“Yeah,” I whispered. "It hit me this morning."
“Then you need soup.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised that he remembered but I was. When I got migraines as a teenager, the only things I could keep down were soup, toast, and tea.
I put my hand over his, which was resting on my forearm. “What did you mean by its over?”
He hesitated so long that I didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally, he asked, “Are you sure you want to talk about this now?”
“Yes. Tell me already before my blood pressure shoots up from pure frustration and it gets worse.”
“Monica signed the paperwork today. Supervised visitation only.”
“You didn’t have to take her to court?” I asked. That was shocking.
“No, I only had to point out some things my investigator discovered over the last few weeks. Like the fact that she was drinking heavily, using illegal drugs, and hadn’t paid taxes since we split up.”
“How did he find out about the taxes? It’s not like the IRS announces that stuff.”
I could hear the suppressed humor in Brody’s voice when he answered, “Apparently, my investigator knows people who can find him information like that.” He cleared his throat and the mirth was gone when he said, “The PI is also pretty sure that she was doing that shit when Jacks was with her. I asked my daughter if Mommy seemed a little loopy sometimes and I was not happy about what I heard.”
Oh, my God.
“She was high or drunk or both when she was supposed to be taking care of my baby girl. She drove her around while she was out of her mind. Monica could have killed her.”
I hated that. And I wanted to hate Monica but I couldn’t. Well, not completely anyway.
“She’s sick, Brody.”
“I know but Jacks’ safety comes first. Especially when I confronted her about it and she said she was fine. That she just liked to have a good time once in a while.”
Yikes.
“And what about us?” I asked. It should have felt strange, having this entire conversation with my eyes closed and covered by a damp cloth, but it didn’t.
“It’s finished. If Monica cleans up her act, Jacks will see her more often. If not, then she’ll have supervised visitation until Jacks is old enough to drive herself to and from her mother’s.”
“I still don’t understand how you got her to agree,” I said.
“I threatened to take her to court to have her spousal support reduced. I was so desperate to be free of her during the divorce I agreed to a lot more than she would get if we fought it out in court. I just wanted it to be over.”
“So what now?” I asked. “You have full custody of your daughter. It’s unlikely Monica will come after you again. I’m in the clear from whatever plans she had. Where do we go from here?”
Brody lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Well, first I make you some soup and toast. Then I tuck you into bed so you can rest.”
He was so exasperating. “As lovely as that all sounds, you know what I really meant.”
“We pick up where we left off,” he replied. “And we work our way up to sleepovers. When we’re all ready, we’ll make it more permanent.”
I swallowed hard at the last sentence. I knew without asking that he meant marriage. He wanted to marry me, even after the nightmare with his ex.
“You know that we’re going to have a prenup, right?” I asked.
“What?” He sounded almost insulted.
“I’m on my way to becoming a franchise. I need to protect my assets.”
Brody choked then laughed. “Worried I only want you for your money?”
“Yeah. It’s been a real problem for me. Knowing when men really care for me or when they just want my cash.”
“All right then, boss lady. We’ll have a prenup but I expect to be well-compensated for my agreement.”
I knew he understood why I’d said it and that he was just playing along. I never wanted Brody to think I was with him for what he could buy me or the amount of money I could walk away with. And after the horror show that was his divorce, I expected him to be gun shy. Hell, I could understand completely how he might be.
So I said it first. Got it out in the open so he wouldn’t have to tiptoe around the topic when the time came.
I decided to change the subject because discussing marriage was freaking me out.
“This is not how I was planning our first night together after the dust settled,” I complained.
“How did you picture it?” he asked.
“You. Me. A bottle of wine and my bed. There was other stuff involved too but those were the highlights,” I answered.
“We can do all of that when you feel better.”
Yes, but it would be more difficult with a sassy six-year-old around. Speaking of her...
“Where’s Jacks?” I asked.
“With your parents. According to your mother, I needed to decompress after everything that’s happened recently.”
I bit back a laugh because I knew it would make my head hurt and the pain had finally faded to a manageable level. “She’s going to come back with a bunch of toys and clothes. And probably some sparkly make-up and nail polish,” I promised him. “Mom’s dying for grandkids and she’s chosen Jacks to be her first.”
“That’s fine,” Brody said. “Jacks needs that. My mother and Monica’s are both very indulgent but in a distant way. She needs attention and affection, something I know from experience your mother can provide in spades.”
Brody kissed the top of my head. “Rest. We have plenty of time to talk later.”
“Okay.” I was in no shape to argue with him now. “But you’re staying the night, right?”
This migraine would probably fade by morning. And then I could celebrate with Brody the way I really wanted to—by jumping his bones.
“Yeah. I’m here as long as you want me to be.”
If that was true, I would have him forever.
I woke up to find someone in my bed. Not just someone. A man.
I lay perfectly still for a few moments until my muzzy head cleared. Brody was in my bed. For the first time in weeks.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and saw that it was still early, just after six. I’d slept for nearly twelve hours.
And Brody slept beside me.
I’d gone to sleep in his arms but he wasn’t holding me now. He was turned away from me, mostly on his stomach, and I could see the expanse of his bare back above the blanket that pooled at his waist.
I reached out and ran the palm of my hand over his shoulder and down his spine. He stirred beneath my touch and excitement pulsed within me.
When he turned over, I was presented with a perfect view of his chest, which seemed more defined than usual.
“Been working out?” I asked when his sleepy green eyes met mine.
“Stress relief,” he answered. “How do you feel?”