“Please tell me that’s code for some kind of sex,” he said without opening his eyes.
“Very funny. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Don’t go.” The easygoing humor vanished and those blue eyes pleaded with me to stay. “It feels better when you’re close.”
Now it was my turn to have trouble catching my breath. I’d never been with a man who needed me. Wanted me? Yes. Enjoyed me? Of course. But needed me? That was brand-new, terrifying territory.
“I’m going next door and I’ll be back in less than a minute,” I promised.
The subtle clench of his jaw was nearly my undoing. But he finally nodded.
I ducked back into the hall, leaving his door open, and made the two-second journey to my apartment. Inside, I quickly found what I needed. When I returned, Nash was still in the same position, watching the door.
“Fifty-seven seconds,” he said.
Juggling my haul, I closed the door again.
“Get ready to relax your ass off,” I said, switching off the overhead lights. I turned on the lamp next to Nash, then took everything else into the kitchen and deposited it on the counter. “I assume your phone connects to this manly looking speaker over here.”
“You assume correctly,” he said, still watching me. “Coat pocket.”
He was still wearing his jacket, a slim-fitting field coat in army green.
“Two birds,” I decided. “Lean forward.”
With my help, Nash slid his arms free. He was wearing one of those sexy thermal shirts that hugged a lot of muscle. It was an unnecessary observation given the current circumstances. Unnecessary yet somehow unavoidable. I could have been on my death bed and I still would have paused to appreciate the man’s form.
I found his phone and used his face to unlock it.
“Oh, come on! You have a playlist called Country Slow Dance,” I complained, pushing play.
“Got a problem with that?” he asked as George Strait’s voice crooned low.
“How are you not married with a pack of kids?”
He waved his right hand down his body. “Honey, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a brittle husk of a man.”
I sat on the coffee table in front of him. “The husk thing is temporary. You’re the marry-your-high-school-sweetheart type. How did some Knockemout cheerleader not tie you down?”
“I had some wild oats to sow first. Had fun sowing ’em for a while. Then fell in love with the job. Had a lot to clean up before I felt like I could give someone the attention they’d deserve.”
“You thought that someone might be Naomi,” I guessed. And why not? She was pretty, kind, loyal, and sweet. She didn’t have any of the rough edges that I did.
“For about five seconds. It was pretty clear she was it for Knox.”
I pointed at his feet. “Boots,” I ordered.
He glanced down wearily as if the task were too monumental.
I pulled one of his feet in my lap and worked the laces loose on his boot.
“I know this is supposed to be humiliating and all, but is it weird I’m also turned on?” he asked, head back, eyes closed.
“You’re a charmer, hotshot. I’ll give you that.” I took off the other boot and scooted off my perch to replace my butt with a pillow. “Feet up.”
“Bossy.”
“Feet up please.” I smiled when he complied. “Good boy.” I gave him a pat on the leg and returned to the kitchen with Piper on my heels.
While the coffee maker spat out a mug of hot water over a tea bag, I opened Nash’s freezer and found a bag of frozen broccoli.
I brought both the mug and the broccoli back to the couch. “The tea is some hippie concoction for relaxation. Tastes like you’re chewing up a bridal bouquet, but it does the trick. The broccoli is for your chest.”
“Why am I wearing frozen florets?” he asked as I positioned the bag. Piper wasn’t a fan of the bag of veggies and hopped down to inspect her toy basket.
“Thanks to science I learned from social media. Cold pressure applied to your sternum stimulates the vagus nerve.”
“And we want my vagus nerve stimulated?”
I took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “It tells your brain to calm your body down.”
He tilted his head on the cushion to look at me. “Mind sitting a little closer?” he asked.
I couldn’t come up with a good enough reason not to besides the fact that I was scared to death I was going to let him sweep me off my feet with his sexy vulnerability. So I eased toward him across the cushion into the danger zone until our shoulders touched again.
His sigh was one of relief.
“Try the tea,” I said.
He picked up the mug, sniffed, then blanched. “This smells like Liza J’s flower beds after the fertilizer.”
“Drink it. Please.”
“The things I do for you,” he muttered, then took a sip. “Oh God. It tastes like someone stomped on rose petals with their damn feet. Why can’t I have a beer?”
“Because as you’ve probably surmised, alcohol isn’t great for panic attacks.”
Squeaka-squeaka-squeak squeak.
Piper pranced up to the couch with a toy in her mouth. I took it from her and threw it across the room. She looked nonplussed and then headed back to the toy bin.
“She doesn’t understand the concept of fetch yet. How are you such an expert on the subject? Panic attacks, not fetch,” Nash clarified, hazarding another sip of tea and wincing again.
“I used to have them,” I said simply.
We sat in silence, staring straight ahead at the blank TV screen. I knew he was waiting for me to speak up and fill the gap with answers. But I was comfortable with uncomfortable silences.
“Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?” he teased.
I smiled. “Where did Nash come from?”
“Silence and a subject change,” he observed.
I reached over and flipped the bag of broccoli. “Humor me.”
“Mom was a country fan. Everything from Patsy Cline to Garth Brooks. She and Dad spent their honeymoon in Tennessee.”
“And then along came Knoxville and Nashville,” I guessed.
“You got it. Now it’s my turn for some answers.”
“You know, it’s getting pretty late. I should go,” I said. But before my sore muscles could contract to get me into a standing position, Nash gripped my thigh with his hand.
“Nope. You can’t leave me alone with thawing broccoli and this god-awful tea. You’ll be too worried about me to sleep.”
“You’re awfully confident for someone who claims to be a husk of a man.”
“Tell me why you know all the right things to do.”
I wanted to throw a quippy answer at him, to keep my own secrets. But for some strange reason, I didn’t want him to feel like he was the only one laid bare.
I blew out a breath.
“That sounds like the beginning of a long story,” he said.
“A long, boring story. There’s still time to send me home,” I reminded him hopefully.
He put the tea down and then carefully slid his arm around me.
“That’s your bad shoulder,” I reminded him as he used his other hand to press my head to his chest next to the broccoli.