Sweet Billionaire Stepbrother(32)

“Lala. Look at me,” Grayson commanded.

Shit. I was powerless to disobey him when he called me Lala.

I turned my head to the side, mostly because I needed to breathe, but refused to open my eyes. I couldn’t look at him after everything Sloane had said. The aroma that was uniquely Grayson snaked its way to my consciousness. God, he smelled good. Just as good as he tasted.

Jesus. Why am I thinking these wicked thoughts?

I squeezed my eyes shut and wished them all away. How had I gone from sheer ecstasy to having this dull ache in my heart in just over sixty minutes?

“I told you she wasn’t feeling well,” Sloane said. “Let’s leave her be and get back to breakfast. I’ll draw the curtains so she can get some sleep.”

“That’s a good idea,” Grayson said. “The darkness will help for her headache.”

My heart felt as heavy as a rock. He wanted to leave so he could be with Sloane. I got the message loud and clear. She was beautiful—he’d said so himself. Of course he wanted to be with her now she was here.

I hate feeling like this.

“Tell you what, you guys go down and finish breakfast. I’ll stay here with Layla and give her something to make her better.”

“But, Grayson—” Sloane sounded pretty unhappy with his reply.

He laid a hand on my forehead for a few seconds, then pushed my damp hair behind my ear.

“Go now, ladies. My patient will be better in no time, I promise.” The tone of his voice was even and measured, not inviting arguments.

As soon as everyone left and the door closed, he leaned over and kissed my brow. I couldn’t believe how that one simple act made me feel so much better so quickly, but I kept my eyes shut. I was never good at hiding my feelings and if Grayson looked into my eyes he’d see just how messed up I was.

Without a word, he left the room and instantly I missed his closeness.

God, how was I going to ever get over him and act normal?

The door squeaked again and I felt his presence return to the room, restoring some calm inside me.

Click.

He locked the door?

“I brought two painkillers and a glass of water. Sit up, Layla.” He was using his Doctor voice now. It was strong and commanding, laced with tenderness and a dollop of caring.

My heart did a little flip-flop. I did as I was told and took the tablets and water without directly looking at him and yet from my peripheral vision I could see how damn hot he looked in his workout gear. His biceps bulged as he crossed his arms over his fine chest.

I swallowed the tablets and drank all the water. I was so damn thirsty.

“Good girl.”

He took the empty glass from my hand, his fingers grazing mine. Every touch was like magic and torture rolled into one.

“What’s going on, Lala? Are you mad at me about what happened?”

Say what?

I found my voice, but still avoided his gaze despite feeling his eyes burn into me. My cheeks grew hotter.

“N . . . no, of course not.”

He let out a long sigh, as if he’d been holding his breath. He sat at the edge of the bed and took my hand in his. I squeezed my eyes shut and savored his touch. With his thumb he rubbed small circles on my wrist, sending an electric current through my body.

“I’m so sorry if what happened last night was not what you wanted. I can never give it back to you and that’s just killing me.”

The caring in his voice caught me off guard. I never expected this. My eyes flew open to witness a pained expression on his handsome face. I’d never seen Grayson so distraught.

Oh God, was he regretting having sex with me now he was sober?

Of course he was.

Because like most males he’d be worried I’d want something more that he wasn’t willing to give, like a relationship when all he’d wanted was to blow his load and forget about it.

This was awkward as hell.

Nausea swept over me. I bowed my head and closed my eyes again. Pain throbbed at my temples and tears prickled behind my eyelids. I wish he wouldn’t be so damn nice, but then again this was Grayson. On some level he did care about me, I’d always known that, just not in the way I wanted him to. It would’ve been so much easier if he was just a jerk about it and didn’t apologize. His kindness was making my heart hurt even more.

He took my chin between his fingers and raised my face. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“Open your eyes, Lala, so I can see you.”

I couldn’t. My lids felt impossibly heavy, like theystuck together with superglue.

“Please, baby,” he whispered.

Oh My God. Baby? Why would he still call me that?

The tears I’d been fighting so hard spilled from my under my closed eyelids and rolled down my cheeks.

“Fuck. What have I done to you? Please forgive me, Layla.” Both hands cupped my cheeks. I pressed my face into his touch, relishing every second. His thumbs brushed over my cheeks, wiping the tears away. My throat burned with unspoken words.

“I wish I could undo last night so badly you have no idea. I’m so f*cking sorry.”

He regretted last night.

I want to die.

I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to beg him to love me back. I wanted him to hold me and never let go.

Instead I sat there leaning against the headboard, my head pounding and my heart splintering into a million pieces.