Instead, I gather her in my arms, surprised by how much I love the scent of her shampoo and how perfectly she fits against my chest. She stirs slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, and I freeze, holding my breath. The last thing I want is for her to wake and accuse me of overstepping. I realize we didn’t agree on overnight stays, but it’s nearly midnight and the thought of putting her in a cab, half asleep and vulnerable, doesn’t sit right. This isn’t for my own benefit; it’s for hers. At least here, I know she’s safe.
When she settles again, I continue to my bedroom and lay her down gently on the bed, pulling the duvet over her.
Her hair fans across my pillow and her long lashes kiss the top of her cheekbones. She looks so unguarded.
I’m half-tempted to slip in beside her. But having already pushed her further than she’s comfortable with this evening, I grab a thick blanket from the end of the bed and make my way back to the sofa.
There’s a strange comfort in knowing she’s here, sleeping in my bed, even if I’m not beside her.
And it’s when I realize, I think I care for Gemma more than I’m willing to admit.
Chapter Thirty
Gemma
My heart thuds erratically against my rib cage as panic sets in. I attempt to peel my eyes open, aware that it’s morning, but I can’t. I can’t see anything.
I reach up and rub my eyes. A crumbly feeling against my fingers confirms one of my worst fears—my eyes are sealed shut with a thick layer of crusty gunk.
“Oh my God!” I shout, fully awake now. “I fell asleep! No!”
I buck and thrash around in a mad panic, the sheets rustling around me. That’s when I inhale a distinct scent that stops me cold.
Max.
It smells like Max.
Oh shit. I’m in Max’s bed. Because I fell asleep. With my bloody daily contact lenses in.
“I’m blind!” I cry. My stomach swirls and swells with anxiety. “I can’t see anything. Shit!”
“What’s wrong?” His alarmed, gravelly voice comes from somewhere nearby. “Gemma? What’s wrong?”
“My contacts,” I moan, rubbing frantically at my eyes. “I fell asleep wearing my contacts. I can’t open my eyes!”
Firm fingers wrap around my wrists. “Stop rubbing,” he says, voice calm, gently pulling my hands away from my face. “You’ll make it worse.”
“This is why I never stay over. It’s why I put the bloody contacts in! I wasn’t meant to stay here!”
“Just hold still,” Max instructs, his voice firm. I feel the bed dip and his weight shifts. He must be standing. Footsteps retreat from the bed and my heart plummets. “No, no, please don’t leave me! Where the hell are you going?”
He laughs. The sick bastard. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
“Not like I can go very far like this, can I?” I say.
I hear the twist of a tap and the sound of water from his en suite. A moment later, he returns.
“I’m going to help you. Just stay calm,” he says.
“I am being bloody calm!” I hiss.
Something warm and damp touches my eyelid—a washcloth. He gently wipes away the crusty buildup with tender movements. I cling to his wrist like a monkey to a tree as I attempt to settle my nerves. I inhale deeply and count to four before exhaling to the same count. A trick my therapist taught me that I always thought was bullshit until this very moment. He moves from one eye to the other, his touch careful and reassuring.
“Can you open them now?” he asks.
I attempt to blink, my eyelids unsticking painfully. Rich sunshine filters through. “Sort of,” I croak, squinting through hazy, irritated eyes. Max’s face gradually swims into handsome focus above me, his expression painted with genuine concern.
“This is karma for Grayson’s eye, isn’t it?” I ask.
