There was once a time when I would’ve laughed in his face at merely suggesting such a thing, much less commanding me. I’d prided myself on my independence, on the power I possessed to walk away from anything and anyone at will. Self-preservation had trumped everything else. But the ugly truth was that with him, I had failed miserably. Because I knew that I could never leave him again. Walking away from him had taught me a harsh lesson, that my love for him was my greatest weakness––and that he knew it terrified me.
Steeped in silence, the rest of the car ride was excruciating, my nerves pulled tight. I only began to relax when the driveway came into view. Sebastian ignored every attempt I made to assure him that I indeed still possessed the ability to walk. Without a word he lifted me out of the car and carried me into the house.
The staff congregated in the foyer as if they were expecting the arrival of the Duchess of Cambridge. Mortified, all the attention made me shrink and press myself closer to Sebastian’s chest, wishing I could melt into him and fade away. With an entourage of the staff trailing after us, I was taken to his bedroom. Mrs. Arnaud caught my expression and, to my great relief, rounded everyone up and ushered them down the hall.
“I have a wonderful consommé with vegetables and rice if you’re hungry,” Mrs. Arnaud suggested with a sweet smile.
“Can you throw in a cow as well?” I joked because I could have eaten a cow; my appetite was storming back with a vengeance.
Her deep blue eyes instantly lit up. “Bien sûr! I’ll bring up lunch for two,” she exclaimed. Then she fired off a list of dishes that made my stomach gurgle in anticipation.
“Not for me.”
“Yes––you must eat. You’ve lost too much weight,” Mrs. Arnaud insisted gently.
“At least a stone,” I added. When Sebastian stared back blankly, I clarified, “Over fifteen pounds.”
He didn’t argue. His gaze fell on the counterpane, glaring at it as if it had offended him in some way. Mrs. Arnaud hurried out of the bedroom before she gave Sebastian the opportunity to change his mind. As soon as we were alone, he began tucking the sheets around me.
“Sebastian…” Nothing. He didn’t spare me a glance as he worked with a single-minded focus usually reserved for balancing the national budget and performing brain surgery. “Darling, I’m not an infant, stop swaddling me.”
He stood straight, his hands on his hips and those once imposing swimmer’s shoulders curving in exhaustion. A loud sigh slipped out of him. Although the tension left him, the sadness remained. He raked his fingers through his hair impatiently. He brushed his palm roughly over his face before his amber eyes met mine again.
“I’d like to bubble wrap you and lock you away.” His lips pressed together in a sullen pout.
“But you can’t. So instead you will crawl into bed next to me and let me hold you.” I knew that if I showed any sign of relenting, it would only embolden him. This need to hoard and protect me could easily consume him if I allowed it.
Holding my gaze, he slowly lifted his hand to cup my face, ran his thumb over my jaw and bottom lip before he kissed me tenderly. “I have work to do.” His eyes moved away in a guilty expression. I reached out for him but he caught my wrist and held it between us.
“Sebastian, please.” I couldn’t hide the ache in my voice.
Without glancing my way again, he said, “I’ll come up later to check on you. Try to get some rest,” and walked out.
He wasn’t simply leaving, he was walking away from me.
In spite of my vehement avowal that I was feeling much stronger, after a fortifying meal I passed out early and slept like the dead through the night. The following morning I awoke to the sound of the shower running.
Next to me the pillow was perfectly smooth. My breath caught and a sharp pain suddenly gripped my chest, the first crack in the bubble of numbness surrounding me.
He was pulling away from me. And if I let him, how long would it take before there was nothing left to salvage?
I walked into the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, next to the shower. If he wasn’t going to talk to me willingly, I figured an ambush was the best course of action. So I waited, watching quietly, riveted on the naked standard of masculine perfection behind the glass door. He hadn’t noticed me sitting there.
Steam clung to the glass, condensing into a halo around him. He was a vision, a dream I once had of an archangel falling to earth to seduce me. His head was tipped down, his eyes closed as the water poured down his neck and followed the long curve of his elegant back, over and in between his rear end. Quintessentially male. There wasn’t a bit of softness anywhere on him––including his expression.