P.S. You're Intolerable (The Harder They Fall, #3)(36)

“You don’t look fussy to me,” he said to Joey in his usual tone. “You do move a lot, though. I remember you in your mom’s tummy. You were rolling like an alligator.”

She kicked her legs and stared up at him like she did her best friend, the ceiling fan. Her big milk-chocolate eyes were fascinated, locked on Elliot and hardly blinking.

I swallowed my bite of garlic bread and wiped my mouth. “You’re good at holding babies. Have you been around many?”

“This is my first one.” He dragged his fingertip along her cheek. “I did some reading on the subject.”

From anyone else, that would have sounded silly, but I knew this man. Elliot Levy didn’t do anything unless he knew every angle before going in. When I thought about it, it didn’t surprise me in the least that he’d researched how to hold a newborn.

“What else did you learn? Maybe you can teach me something since all my knowledge comes from trial and error.”

He hmphed. “I doubt you weren’t prepared for her. You might not do research the way I do, but I saw the bassinet and car seat. They have the highest safety ratings and most customer satisfaction. It isn’t a coincidence you chose those.”

I swallowed my eggplant parm. “It isn’t. I can shop with the best of them. It’s the taking care of an infant and raising her to be a healthy, happy, functioning human being I doubt myself on.”

“Hmmm. I don’t know.” He swayed Joey back and forth. “She looks pretty good to me.”

“I had her living in a hovel.”

He shot me a pointed look. “She had floors, Catherine.”

I exhaled, tension flowing out with my heavy breath. “Yeah. She did have that, Elliot.”



Joey went to sleep easy for me. For once, my arms and shoulders weren’t tight with tension. Maybe she felt it and relaxed too. Whatever the reason, she passed out after I fed her and was snug in her bassinet for her first night in her new, temporary home.

Elliot appeared in the open doorway just as I was about to sit down on my bed to examine my foot. He waved me over, so I grabbed the baby monitor and went to him.

“I noticed you were still limping after dinner,” he whispered. “Let me check out your foot.”

“Do you have bandages?”

“In my bathroom.”

I followed him down the hall and into his bedroom, which had the same layout as mine. The design was chic and unfussy like the rest of the house, but there were small details that made this room appear just a little more lived-in than the rest.

The book and unfolded glasses on the nightstand.

A dent in the thick duvet, where I imagined Elliot might have sat to put on his socks.

A barely there hint of citrus, a note of Elliot’s cologne.

A gorgeous chrome wall piece over the bed I wished I could have explored closer, but that would have meant climbing onto the mattress, and well…no.

Elliot noticed me looking at his art. “Do you like it?”

I nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

“Luca made it. He calls his art a hobby.” From the subtle shake of his head, he disagreed.

“Wow. I only studied art history for a semester, but to my completely untrained eye, Luca has a lot of talent.”

“He does, but his family obligations mean his focus is running Rossi Motors.”

“Family is always a double-edged sword like that.”

Elliot hummed once, then fell silent and held his arm out, directing me into the bathroom. This room was nearly identical to mine, with sleek black cabinets and gleaming white tiles. The tub stood apart from the wall, and above it hung a metal and glass mobile.

I pointed to it. “One of Luca’s too?”

“It is.” He patted the counter. “Can you hop up here? It’ll be easier for me to check you out.”

I started to hobble to the counter, but my pride insisted I throw out another protest. “I could do this myself, you know.”

“I’m aware you’re able to, but I’d like to see for myself how serious it is.”

I pushed myself up, my butt landing on the marble between twin sinks. I still only had one sock on, the tissue, and the tiny bandage. Elliot wasn’t going to be impressed with my first aid skills.

He stacked supplies on the counter beside me, then dragged over a teak bench and sat down in front of me. “I’m going to take off your sock now.”

I nodded my consent, and he wrapped his long fingers around my ankle, lifting my foot onto his knee. He carefully peeled my sock off, and with it came the majority of the bloody tissue.

He grunted, shoulder bobbing up and down. His disapproving thoughts were broadcast so loudly I could almost hear them.

“You have to take better care of yourself, Catherine,” he admonished softly, ripping the Band-Aid off in one swift motion.

“I know.” I rubbed my palm along my thigh. “It’s been rough lately.”

“It doesn’t have to be anymore.” With a warm washcloth, he swiped the sole of my foot, a frown pinching his brows. “You really jabbed yourself, but it appears it’s stopped bleeding.”

His hands were smooth and sure, wiping my sole until it was clean. As the water cooled on my skin, I felt his breath heating it again. His concentration was focused completely on his task, allowing me to watch him uninterrupted.