She shivered at the unexpected timbre of his voice, laced with both yearning and pain. “Er, y-yes,” she stammered, feeling way off-kilter. “My father is Professor John Simon. You’ve been working with him. Helping him with his computer system for his research. He said you had?—”
“I don’t.” His voice was clearing, going from bedroom sexy to just radio mellow.
She huffed out a breath, irritation doing little to cool her lust, but every tiny bit helped. “He gave you his journals to digitize. I’m going to transcribe them for him while he’s in the hospital.”
His gaze sharpened. “Hospital?”
“Yeah. Heart attack. Bypass surgery a couple days ago.” She kept her answer short, not wanting to relive the frantic midnight phone call from her mother or the drive from Chicago to Saginaw, Michigan, when her life was already in so much chaos. But considering the circumstances, her boss had given her leave from work. Then she had that anxious wait through the surgery while she, her mother, and her younger sister went slowly crazy from too much bad coffee and too little news.
“He okay?”
She nodded. “He’s lucky he collapsed at the café in town. He got CPR immediately and then was air lifted to Saginaw.”
She fell silent while he studied her face. His eyes narrowed, and the intensity kicked up in their dark blue depths. She hadn’t thought anything about the man could be more raw than what she’d felt earlier, but his scrutiny made her uncomfortable. Like he was reading every curve and hollow on her face for way more than she wanted to reveal.
Then he set down his coffee with a hard click. “You are worried.”
“Of course?—”
“But not too worried. You believe your father will be fine.”
Two complete sentences full of two-syllable words. Quite the improvement. Maybe now he’d put some pants on. Meanwhile, she watched him curve his mouth into a slow smile.
“I’m glad he’s going to be okay.”
Hard not to soften when he spoke in those bedroom tones. “So am I. But by tomorrow he’s going to be bored. I was sent here to get his journals.”
He frowned. “I gave them back a while ago.” His gaze shifted from her to a large calendar on the wall. It was a Dilbert one, full of cartoons about working in the cubicle jungle. And it was on the wrong month. “What day is it?”
“Tuesday.” Then when he stared at her in confusion, she got more specific. “June second. Do you need the year, too?”
He slowly shook his head as he walked over to the calendar. “I’ve been asleep for three days.”
What? Holy shit! “Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital?” That would explain a lot.
“What? No.” His voice was emphatic, but given that he was still staring at the month of May, she wasn’t convinced.
“It’s not normal to sleep for days on end.” She kept her voice neutral, but was ready to dial 911 if he showed signs of delirium or something.
He swallowed, then carefully switched the calendar over to June. “It is for me. Lately.” Then he stood there glaring at the new Dilbert image. “I woke up a couple times, I think, but fell right back to sleep.”
“For three days?”
His gaze cut to hers, and in those dark blue depths, she saw a haunting despair—like a man staring down the barrel of a gun. And now she remembered what had drawn her to him as a teen. Even back then she couldn’t look at that much pain without reaching to comfort him. But she only got one step closer before he stiffened and turned from her.
“I’m suddenly starving,” he said, his voice settling into a forced cheer. After the husky tones from a few minutes ago, this was downright irritating. “Want something to eat?”
“No, thanks.”
He crossed to a large refrigerator and pulled it open. A big T-bone sat in the center as well as a couple more cuts of beef, plus milk and a surprising number of fruits and vegetables. Given that her refrigerator contained an expired tub of yogurt and a crappy bottle of wine, she had to be impressed that Mr. Caveman kept a well-stocked kitchen.
“You sure?” he said, his voice becoming cheerier with every word. “I’ve got plenty.”
“No, thanks. I had a burger on the way up.”
“Ugh. Fast food.” His tone held all the contempt of a celebrity chef. Meanwhile, he pulled out two steaks and threw them on a plate. His movements were efficient as he poured on a homemade marinade and set them aside to soak. Then he grabbed a variety of leafy greens, tomatoes, and God only knows what other vegetables for an amazing salad. Just watching him work was a delight, especially given the way his muscles rippled as he sliced and diced.
The steaks went into the oven right before he started sautéing some kind of mushroom and onion mixture. Oh, hell. It smelled amazing, and her stomach rumbled. That burger had been a long while ago. He heard it, of course, and his eyes cut to hers even while he stirred his mixture.
