Girl Gone Viral (Modern Love #2)(26)

Jas dusted his hands off and rose. He’d get to help Katrina and satisfy that craving to see his home without actually having to deal with the biggest issues that came with it. A win for everyone.

He’d called his stepbrother to tell him they were coming and asked him to keep it under wraps. Bikram was the foreman, though he was only twenty-five. Unlike Jas, his little brother ate, slept, and breathed this farm and this little town. Ideally, Bikram wouldn’t let his presence here slip to their parents. He didn’t want his mom to get her hopes up.

Jas surveyed the heavy growth of trees that shielded the little house from view. He’d arranged for a 24/7 security detail. The first shift should be arriving soon, and the guards would stay out of sight. He’d told Katrina about the arrangement during their trip so she wouldn’t be worried if she spied them.

He exhaled, his breath fogging in the cold early morning air. October was so much colder here than it was in Southern California. The cold wind blew through the valley, right through his thin cotton long-sleeved shirt. He’d packed warmer clothes, but he might have to borrow a heavier jacket from his brother as well.

He couldn’t be grouchy about the weather. His knee might grow stiff soon, but the cold was his old friend, enveloping him in an icy hug, much kinder to him than the sun had ever been.

Jas opened the back door of the car and bent down. His hand hovered above Katrina’s shoulder, unwilling to take even the slightest liberty when she was unconscious. “Katrina?”

Nothing.

He dared to use two fingers to poke her shoulder, grimacing as he did so. This was not smooth.

Or effective. Her breathing remained as deep as ever.

He finally shook her shoulder, then shook her again. “Katrina?”

Jas straightened, flummoxed. He glanced around, the cold air crystallizing his breath. He couldn’t very well let her sleep in the car for the rest of the morning, and he was too exhausted to keep poking her until she woke up.

He scuffed his otherwise spotless shoe in the dirt. You’ve carried her before.

Only once, when she was having an attack and he’d moved her. Never from a car to a bed. He’d especially never carried her over a threshold.

He glanced at the structure. Over his ancestral family home’s threshold.

He tried to shake her gently again, and thank God her lashes fluttered open. “Hmm?” she murmured, and the sleepy sound went to his gut.

“We’re here,” he said.

She gave a nod and stirred, though her seat belt stopped her from rising. He reached over her, careful not to touch any part of her, and unsnapped the buckle, then moved back.

He had to hold her arm when she got out of the car, but she found her balance quickly. “It’s chilly,” she muttered. She’d changed into a sweater and yoga pants for the drive.

“I know. Let’s get inside.” She looked so unsteady he hovered behind her as she walked up the two steps to the porch.

The door was unlocked, which was normal. Even if he hadn’t told his brother he was coming here, the door would have been unlocked. Locking doors in this town was for tourists, not locals.

Consider him a tourist, so long as he was in charge of Katrina’s safety. He glanced at the rusted dead bolt. Tomorrow he’d change the locks on it and the back door.

It was warm inside, which surprised him. At some point over the last however many years it had been since he’d visited, they must have installed central heat. He took in the large living room with a glance. The place was clean and furnished with an older, comfortable sectional and television, but that was updated from what he remembered too. His grandpa must have refurbished the big house and given this place the hand-me-downs.

Katrina slumped against the wooden post at the foot of the stairs and yawned. “Come on,” he said. “Bedrooms are upstairs.”

It wasn’t until he led Katrina to a bedroom and turned the light on that he realized how tired he must be, because he’d accidentally led her to the room he’d used as a kid instead of the much larger master bedroom. Noooo, you cannot put her in your childhood bedroom. That’s so weird.

Before he could stop her, she muttered, “Thank you,” and collapsed on the mattress of the four-poster bed, not even bothering to get under his great-grandmother’s quilt.

“Uh, Katrina,” he tried, but all he got was a slight snore, her mouth parted.

He set his hands on his hips and glanced around. This wasn’t really his room any longer. The walls were bare now, the magazine posters he’d taped on the wood paneling as a kid long gone. The door to the bathroom was wide open, and it was similarly empty but clean and dust-free. He was sure Katrina had brought her fancy toiletries with her, but he could see some small samples on the counter. His brother really had readied the place for him on short notice.

He closed the bathroom door, so the light from the window there wouldn’t interrupt her sleep. He also closed the blinds. He was about to leave when he made the mistake of glancing at her.

She hadn’t taken off her shoes.

So let her sleep in them.

But then she’d be uncomfortable and wake up. He wrestled with himself, but finally walked back to the bed.

It was impossible not to touch her while he removed her shoes, but he tried to remain as detached as possible, even when he had to briefly encircle her slim ankle with his hand.

Pretend it’s a dowel, or a fishing rod, or a hanger. Not a perfect round little ankle.