Written in Ink (Montgomery Ink #4)(25)

“Fine.”

She let out a breath, then let the rest of the Montgomerys ask the questions they needed to and say their goodbyes. Each one hugged her gently before helping them get to Storm’s car. She sat in the back with Griffin in silence; aware that he kept staring at her as if he were trying to figure out what to say. It wasn’t as if she knew what to say either.

Storm helped her get Griffin into his bedroom and snorted when the man noticed how clean the place was. At least she’d done a good job there. Storm left them with a dip of his head and locked the door behind him, leaving Griffin in his bed and Autumn wringing her hands beside him.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” Griffin whispered.

Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let one fall. She needed to leave him alone before he saw her cry.

He reached up with his left hand and touched her cheek. “Autumn…”

She leaned forward and kissed his temple. “Goodnight, Griffin. I’ll wake you soon.”

“Autumn…” he repeated.

She pulled away, the lack of his touch like a cold burn. “Goodnight.”

She turned on her heel as the first tear fell, knowing Griffin had seen anyway. He was hurt because of her, in pain because of her. And she shouldn’t have been surprised.

Everyone always got hurt when they got too close.

****

Griffin looked down at his hands and frowned. One held only a scrape or two. The other was fully encased in a cast. The doctors had told him if he hadn’t had his arm out over Autumn’s body the way he had, he may not have broken it. As it was, he didn’t need surgery, but it had been damn close.

His hand hadn’t saved Autumn’s life, but in that instant, he’d needed to somehow protect the woman sitting in his passenger seat.

It had been idiotic, but he wasn’t sure he’d have done it differently if he had the chance to do it again.

Of course now he was royally f*cked when it came to his deadline. His editor was sympathetic and had said she would extend it since they still had time. In fact, since he was usually so early with his manuscripts, he could theoretically make his original release date.

He just had to write.

How he could do that one-handed, he wasn’t exactly sure.

He’d been awake off and on all night since Autumn kept coming into his room with her gentle caresses and soft words. She wanted to make sure his minor concussion wasn’t worse than it had been, but it was a new form of agony to have her so close when he was in bed and not able to do anything about it. He cursed at himself. Damn it. He didn’t have any right to want her. Kissing her had put him in this position in the first place.

He would not be kissing her again.

And if he kept telling himself that lie, then one day he might believe it.

“Griffin?” Autumn came into his bedroom with a tray in her hands. “I know you’ve been on the phone off and on all morning, but I made you breakfast.”

He studied her face, the dark circles under her eyes, and wanted to bring her close, tell her everything was okay. But he knew that wasn’t quite true. He didn’t know what the hell was going on between them, nor did he know what he was going to do with his damn book. But on top of that, he knew she held secrets he wasn’t sure she would ever share.

Griffin cleared his throat. “You didn’t have to make me breakfast.”

She set the tray down on the table next to the bed and put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I did. It’s part of the job.”

He didn’t know why that statement hurt when it shouldn’t have in the slightest.

Autumn let out a breath. “Plus, I wanted to. You shouldn’t have to move a lot since your brain probably still isn’t happy yet.”

He raised a brow. “Thanks,” he said dryly.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up. I was…well…I have no idea what I meant by that actually. Anyway, I have breakfast for you. And I’m sure your family will either be here soon en masse, or one at a time according to a prearranged schedule. So, after you eat, we’ll get you showered and dressed and then we can figure out what we’re going to do about your writing.”

He licked his lips at the thought of her in the shower with him; his hands roaming over her body as he made sure every single inch of her was squeaky clean.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, writer boy. Your hand is broken, not your leg. You don’t need me in the shower with you.”

He met her gaze. “There might be a need…”

“Griffin.”

He closed his eyes. “Sorry. I know we said we wouldn’t talk about what happened in the kitchen, but—”

“And that would be talking about it,” she interrupted.

“We should really talk about it sometime.” Who was this guy? Hell, he never talked about relationships. Ever since Lauren, he shied away from talking about feelings and shit unless it was in a book.

At the thought of Lauren, he paused. What the f*ck was wrong with him? He never thought her name anymore. He tried damn hard not to think about her at all. Maybe he’d hit his head harder than he thought. Or maybe it was all because of the woman in front of him.

“Or, we can go about our business.” Her gaze landed on his bare chest and froze. When she licked her lips, he had to adjust his boxers. Pink laced her cheeks at the movement and she looked at his face again. “We have to.”