“I know,” he says quietly. “I think we are too.”
He pulls my hand away from his face gently. He holds it for a second, his thumb stroking my knuckles.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s get you to bed. You need to sleep.”
He walks over to the bed and turns down the covers. I stumble after him. I sit on the edge of the mattress. It feels like heaven.
I try to take off my boots, but I’m too clumsy. My fingers fumble with the laces.
“Let me,” Rhett says.
He drops to one knee in front of me. He unlaces my boots then pulls them off, setting them neatly side by side.
“Do you want me to help you with your jeans?” he asks. His tone is clinical, not suggestive. He’s just being Rhett. Taking care of me.
“I can do it,” I say. I stand up and unbutton my jeans. I shimmy them down, kicking them off. I climb into bed in my T-shirt and underwear.
He pulls the quilt up over me. Tucks me in.
“Do you need anything?” he asks. “Water? Aspirin?”
“Bucket,” I say. “Just in case.”
He smiles. “Coming right up.”
He disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running. He comes back with a small trash can and a glass of water. He sets them on the nightstand within easy reach.
“Drink,” he commands.
I sit up and take a sip of water. It’s cool. It helps.
He stands there, looking down at me. The room is quiet. The only sound is the rain tapping against the window.
“Stay,” I say.
He pauses. “What?”
“Stay,” I say again. I reach out and grab his hand. “Please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone.”
He looks at our joined hands. He looks at my face, searching for something.
“I’ll be right here,” he says. “I’ll sit in the chair. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Stay here. In the bed.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Saramaria.”
“I’m not asking for sex,” I say, though the thought makes my skin flush. “I just… can you sleep in my bed with me? Please, Rhett.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he sighs. A sound of defeat.
“Okay,” he says.
He walks around to the other side of the bed. He kicks off his shoes. He lies down on top of the covers, fully clothed.
He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling.
I curl up next to him. I don’t touch him. I just let his presence anchor me. I can smell him—cinnamon and espresso and the scent of rain that still clings to his clothes.
