Heartless (Chestnut Springs, #2)(51)

I nod and he pulls his T-shirt off the countertop again before carefully sliding it over me in a wave of cool fabric. It’s massive but it smells fresh. It smells like him—pine. And that’s not a smell that’s making me nauseous at all.

“You okay?” His expression is concerned but not panicked. There is something comforting about the fact he is so unflappable.

“Yeah. I might just . . .” I wave a hand around the bathroom. “Camp out in here for a bit. My dignity would appreciate a little privacy. Don’t quite know how I’ll repay you for holding my hair back while I got sick.” I shake my head and let my eyes flutter shut.

He laughs but it’s a gentle one. I hear him pull away, and I let myself slump against the wall behind me. The sound of him opening and closing drawers fills the small room, but I’m too tired to bug him about cleaning again.

Neat freak.

I feel the warmth of him as he approaches again. “Sit up, Red.”

“Can’t. Too tired.” Why is barfing so exhausting?

“You can do it,” he coaxes with one hand on my shoulder.

“I’m going to get you sick,” I whine, still not moving.

“I never get sick.” His thumb rubs sweetly across my collarbone, and I force my eyes open to look at him. “Come on, lean forward a bit.”

I don’t know why he wants me to do this, but it seems like he’s not leaving until I do, so I comply, even though the rebellious part of me wants to lean back and say, Make me.

It would seem nausea easily quells the rebellious part of me.

“That’s my girl.” His deep voice vibrates through my bones, and then his fingers are in my hair, gently combing it back into a ponytail and wrapping a soft silk scrunchy around it. One he must have fished out of my drawer.

I moan at the feel. At his words. My girl.

God, I must be delirious. I chance a peek up at his stubbled jaw and stern features, while he carefully pulls my hair back. I want to melt into a puddle, and I’m certain that has nothing to do with the stomach bug.

Grumpy Cade is hot.

Sweet Cade is irresistible.

With my hair secured, he meets my gaze, face lined with concern. He runs a wide palm down the side of my head, resting it at my neck. “I’m going to leave you alone now, even though I don’t want to. If you need me, I’ll be out there.” He lifts his chin toward the door.

I’m not sure what to say to that. To him. To this. So, I just nod stupidly.

And stare at his ass as he walks out of the bathroom.





“Okay, up we go.”

I’m faintly aware of the most masculine smell and the feel of gentle hands shaping my waist.

“Come on, Red. I tried to be a gentleman and respect your wishes, but your wishes are bullshit. I stayed out of here as long as I could, and it drove me crazy to do it. I’m not leaving you sleeping on my bathroom floor.”

That comment has my eyelids dragging open as awareness seeps back in that I am indeed still in the bathroom. It’s no longer light out and the kink in my neck is causing more discomfort than any actual sense of nausea.

Cade’s hands slide into my armpits and lift me. I go with him, leaning into him once I’m standing. He wraps an arm around my waist to support me without even blinking.

“Let’s go,” he whispers. I can feel the rasp of his beard against my ear, and suddenly I’m wide awake and intimately aware of the fact I have not brushed my teeth.

“Go where?” I blink at him, groggy and still trying to get my bearings.

“My bed.”

I blink with more intention now. “Come again?”

“It’s closest to a toilet if you need it. Don’t be weird about it. It makes sense.”

His logic isn’t flawed. It’s the same reasoning I used last night with Luke. “Okay, fine. But I need to brush my teeth.”

He rolls his eyes and I watch his jaw work. “I don’t care about your breath, Red. I’m not taking you there to make out.”

I laugh, but my biggest question is, Why not?

While I brush my teeth, he stands in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, glaring at me like I’m an inmate and he’s a warden or something.

When I finish, he holds out a hand to me, and I take it, letting him lead me through the quiet house toward his bedroom. I tug him to a stop outside of Luke’s room and peek in at his little body rolled up in a blanket with plastic sticky stars glowing on the ceiling. I can’t help but smile, relieved that he seems to be resting comfortably.

“Was he feeling better?” I ask, before glancing up at his dad.

“Yeah. He’s going to be fine. Fever broke and everything. It’s you I’m worried about now. You two are giving me some extra grays today.”

I smile and drop my gaze. “Ah, well. They look good on you.”

He says nothing, but as he pulls me the rest of the way down the hall toward the master bedroom, his thumb rubs soft circles on the protruding bone in my wrist.

“In,” he orders, pointing at the enormous bed.

“Aye, aye, Captain.” I salute, but it’s weak and tired, and I feel overwhelmingly relieved to be crawling into his bed.

“Did you keep anything down?” He clicks on the bedside lamp and pulls the blanket over me.