He narrowed his gaze. “Don’t know how to read men very well, do you, sweetheart?”
Nope, not at all. And she had no idea what he was trying to say.
He sighed. Then let out a small laugh, rubbing his hand over his face. “I meant that obviously something was wrong if you broke things off.”
“I didn’t. He did. Or I think he was going to. That’s why he called. I hurt him. I kept stuff from him. I messed up.”
He ran his thumb over her cheek, and she realized she was crying. “He’s not worth your tears. Whatever you kept from him I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as what he kept from you.”
The humiliation and pain went deep. She needed to be alone. “I think I need to sleep now.”
James stared at her for a moment, and she thought he was going to refuse. Then he nodded and stood. “I’ll go check out this stuff and see what you need. I’ll check on you in an hour or so.”
“Sure. Thanks.” He could do whatever he liked. Right now, she didn’t care about anything but the pain of losing the man she loved. She realized in that moment she’d still thought there was a chance to change things between them. To earn back his trust. But now he’d ruined that. Ripped things apart. In the morning, she might feel angry about it, at him. Right then, she just felt sorrow.
12
James stirred when she moaned. He sat up, nearly groaning as his body protested sleeping in the armchair. Although he kept himself in shape, he was over forty and had long since passed the days of being able to sleep anywhere.
He watched Kinley for a moment as she thrashed her head back and forth. Getting up, he laid his hand on her forehead, frowning to feel that it was still warm, but she instantly quieted under his touch, the way she had the other times he’d been woken by her cries.
A sense of satisfaction filled him. Knowing he could soothe her. That he was the one taking care of her now. He’d never really understood why Sloan had always enjoyed taking care of Sarah. Oh, he’d taken care of her too, in his own way. He’d provided her with everything, clothes, food, holidays, whatever she’d needed, she’d had. He’d pleasured her, dominated her, but he’d never been one for aftercare. Sloan had loved aftercare, so he’d always left it to him.
He realized that might have been a mistake. He was beginning to see what Sloan had given her was much more meaningful. It built a connection. One he hadn’t been a part of with Sarah. He’d kept a distance from her, not wanting to get too close. Ultimately that had cost him everything.
He brushed Kinley’s red hair off her face. Even ill and asleep, she was beautiful. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes he’d made with Sarah. That fool boyfriend of hers had thrown away a gem, and James firmly believed in finders keepers. No, she wasn’t getting away from him. He’d pamper her, cherish her, and take care of her in all ways. He waited for panic at that thought. After all, he’d lost everything once. If he laid himself bare with Kinley, he could lose it all again.
Only if you let it happen.
Things would have to be different. He would have to be different. But, then, wasn’t he already? He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d ever take care of this way. Where he would sacrifice his own comfort for theirs. Even now, he could be sleeping in his own bed. Instead, worried about the way she kept crying out, he’d moved a chair in to keep an eye on her. He’d been taking her temperature, watching over her. Worrying.
If her boyfriend had been worthy of her, he would have stepped aside. Would have kept his distance. But he wasn’t. And now she was James’s.
“James, I’m getting up today.”
“No, you’re not.”
She gave him a firm look. “Yes, I am.”
The first day, she’d been too sick to protest his domineering ways—sick and heartbroken. The next day, she’d resolved she was leaving, but her determination had waned beneath his firm dictate that she was staying where she was. Truthfully, she hadn’t fought too hard.
Being taken care of by James was like . . . well, it was hard to describe, but having someone as charismatic and powerful as James focus on her went straight to her head like a glass of champagne, not that she’d ever tasted real champagne. But it was flattering, it made her feel important, like she meant something to him.
Which is why she needed to get away from him. Because she could get used to this. And she shouldn’t. He wasn’t hers. Never would be. She had to get back to her real life, which certainly didn’t consist of lying in expensive sheets on a mattress that had to be softer than clouds while a gorgeous man waited on her hand and foot.
She’d honestly expected him to take her home that next day. There was no way he didn’t have more important things to do than take care of her. But he’d simply waved off her concerns and brought his work into her bedroom, using his laptop and phone to conduct business. It made her feel special.
Yes, she could definitely get used to this. And that was a bad, bad thing.
She placed her spoon down on the tray. He’d brought her chicken soup. On a tray. And while it wasn’t as good as her mother’s recipe, it was still delicious. But there was no need for him to wait on her anymore. She was capable of getting up and looking after herself.
“Eat your soup.”
“I’m full. Thank you, it was delicious.”
He leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “If you can’t eat a whole bowl of soup, I don’t believe you’re well enough to go home.”
“My fever has broken, I haven’t vomited since that first night and I can go to the bathroom alone.” Thank God. “I’m fine.”