I didn’t want it, but I ate it anyway.
I hated soup. I mean, it tasted good, but it was wet and thick and just, ugh, no.
Running a hand through his hair, he admitted, “I like you in the study with me, Aoife, but…”
“But?” I asked, my tone so eager I wanted to roll my eyes. At my-damn-self!
I sounded like a puppy dog desperate for a belly rub.
Although, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea at the moment.
A bit further down would be perfect, though.
“You don’t want to overhear the conversations I’m having.”
I wasn’t certain how he was pulling it off, but Finn hadn’t left my side since I’d been shot. Even when he’d showered, he’d used one somewhere in the hospital and had come back dressed in scrubs.
McDreamy had nothing on my guy.
When I’d seen him, I’d told him that if the Mob became too much of a hassle, he should go into acting. His brothers had hooted, and he’d smirked at me, but under his eyes, those sharp cheekbones of his had been dusky with embarrassment.
“You think I don’t know you’re plotting the demise of a bunch of Colombians?” I tried to sound laissez-faire and knew I didn’t pull it off when he shot me a look.
“Think of it as chess. It’s easier.”
That had me scowling. “They’re just like us.”
“They’re nothing like us,” he spat, and his sudden burst of temper had me jolting in bed. Of course, because I was on a stupid soft-foods diet, the damn soup sloshed everywhere.
When it spilled onto my lap, I yelped and Finn, eyes wide, grabbed the tray and nearly threw it on the floor as he tugged the comforter away.
The near panic on his face had me tugging my sleep shirt away from my thighs with one hand, and then grabbing his hand with the other. “Finn, I’m okay!” I half-yelled at him as he started trying to strip off my shirt.
I mean, I wanted to be naked with him but only if it involved him being naked too.
I knew I wasn’t up to anything like we’d done before, but God, just his fingers between my legs would scratch this itch he’d made in my body.
I thought, oddly enough, it was my way of bounding back from the whole charade. Dead, I was not. Alive and kicking, that was me. Well, not kicking. Not yet. But alive, definitely, and I had the sexiest man in the universe tending to me. I just had to make him see me as less than a patient and more as his wife and lover.
“You’re scalded,” he swore as he stared down at my pale thighs.
“They’re just pink from the heat. It’s nothing. Trust me, I’ve had enough burns to know.” That didn’t improve his scowl, and I snickered at him. “I’m a baker, Finn. A trained chef to boot. If you don’t think I know what a true burn is, you’re nuts.” I shook my head when he growled under his breath. “You’re such a bear.”
“And you’re remarkably at…” He stilled, swallowed, and seemed to settle on, “…ease.”
“Is that a complaint?” I frowned at him, wondering what he meant by ‘at ease.’
Was I supposed to be uncomfortable in my sick bed?
Shit, the site where I’d been operated on was itchy. It wasn’t gross anymore and didn’t ‘leak’ when Finn cleaned it—because yeah, he’d taken that upon himself, too—but it was like when you broke your foot and had a cast on for eight weeks. By the end of the two months, you were sticking God knew what down the cast to scratch your ankle.
I was tiredall the time, felt weak and quivery when I exerted myself by using the damn bathroom, and my once enormous appetite for all things edible had diminished considerably. Even if Finn wasn’t intent on feeding me a hundred varieties of soup, each one that made a swamp look tasty, I didn’t even want to eat cake.
Yes.
I didn’t want to eat cake.
Let that sink in for a second.