The sheetsnext to me are cool to the touch, and I roll over with a groan, though my back feels better than it has in weeks.
Graham’s not here. Shit. Did he leave? Is my door unlocked? Oh, God. The first guy I trusted in more than a year, the guy who saved my groceries and brought me ice cream…I should have known superheroes like that don’t exist. And if they did, they certainly wouldn’t have any interest inme.
After struggling into my pants, I limp down the stairs until I hear someone moving around in my kitchen.
Hedidstay. Either that or I’m royally fucked.
My left leg buckles on the last step, and I grab the railing.
“Whoa there,” Graham says. “Careful.”
He’s shirtless, and I can’t look away from his abs. Or the tattoo covering his left shoulder and arm.
I am the master of my fate and the captain of my soul.
I wish I had that confidence. “You stayed.” It’s all I can manage, and he frowns.
“Did you expect me to walk out in the middle of the night?” He offers me a mug of coffee, and the scent helps clear my head.
“I…err…no. Maybe?” I’m not proud of how shaky my voice is. Or how wrong I was.
“Your last relationship must have been really shitty,” he says with a shake of his head. “Either that or you lied when you said you trusted me.”
“I didn’t lie.” The words slip out on a whisper, and I’m still holding onto the rail like my life depends on it. “He was a nightmare.”
“Q, I’m sorry.” His gaze softens, and he reaches out and skims his hand down my arm. “You didn’t have much in your cabinets, but I think I can manage pancakes. If you’re hungry—”
The coffee mug hits the floor, the hot liquid splashing onto my fleece pants.
“Shit!” Graham sets his cup down on the hall table, runs back to the kitchen, and grabs a dish towel. “Don’t move. You could slip.” Kneeling, he mops up the liquid and stares up at me. “What did I say? Or do?”
I can’t answer him. Not until he stands right in front of me, all those muscles and ink and intense stare. Pain creases his brow, and he’s so serious. So respectful.
“Quinton? Talk to me. Please?” Graham hasn’t touched me, and as the seconds pass, the disappointment in his eyes only grows until his shoulders slump. “Let me get my stuff, and I’ll go.”
Before he can pass me on the stairs, I whisper, “Pancakes.”
“What?”
We’re only inches apart now. He’s one step above me, and that puts us at eye level, which is why I drop my gaze to my feet. “Pancakes. My…my ex made them every day. And I hate them.”
“What about waffles? Donuts? Scones? Ice cream?”
This amazing, considerate man is trying so hard, and I can’t even look him in the eyes. All I can manage is to stare at his chin. The dark brown stubble, the dimple under his lower lip.
The firm line of his mouth shifts from worry to frustration. “I’m not him, Q. I won’t hurt you. Won’t force you to do anything you don’t want.”
“I never said anything—” Shit. I did. Last night. Not the details, but do they even matter? He knows my deepest fears, and he’s actively trying to dispel them.
Graham eases down a step, giving me the height advantage. “I know the signs. Comes with my training. And years of therapy. You keep expecting me to be angry or shout or dosomethingthat scares you or hurts you so badly, you can’t defend yourself. I’m not that guy.”
“He broke me.” The words stick in my throat, and only Clementine winding around my ankles keeps the panic from swallowing me whole.
Graham scoops her up and places her in my arms. “She was whining and basically climbing my leg until I put some kibble in her bowl.”
“You fed my cat.”
His brows furrow, and he curses under his breath. “I didn’t mean to overstep. With any of it. Breakfast, Clementine, staying the night. I’ll go.”
