“Before you leave, princess—” Lia paused, bracing herself for another lewd comment. “Where do you suppose I would find the bed linen?”
Crumbs! She remembered Daff mentioning that she hadn’t yet made the bed. She chewed the inside of her cheek. She supposed she could get the linen for him and leave him to make the bed. She risked a quick glance at him—his pale face was gleaming with sweat, and there were lines of strain around his mouth and eyes.
He would probably keel over before he got the sheet on. She sighed and shook her head before whirling and marching up the stairs to the loft that housed the huge king-size bed. She noted his luggage on the floor at the foot of the bed and wondered how he had managed to get the bags up here.
She found the linen in the padded storage bench at the foot of the bed. She made quick work of the task and had the bed made in less than ten minutes. She was surprised that he hadn’t followed her up the stairs and cautiously made her way back down, wondering why he was so quiet.
She found him seated in Mason’s comfortable easy chair, looking completely wiped out, his lips thin and his eyes screwed shut. His breathing was shallow, and he seemed to be in a fair amount of pain.
“Are you okay?” she ventured tentatively.
“What the fuck do you think?” he snapped without opening his eyes. He was so different from the charmer of six months ago. It was unsettling. She now saw that practiced charm for the act that it was and knew that the real Sam Brand lay somewhere between that smooth talker and this short-tempered man.
“You’re in pain, and in light of that, I’ll let your language and your rudeness slide, but please be aware I won’t tolerate it again.”
“Well, shit, Miss Prissy Panties, have I offended your delicate sensibilities?”
“Can you get up without assistance?” she asked, ignoring his goading behavior.
“Of course I can!” he snarled, a bear with a sore paw. He heaved a huge sigh and then grimaced before opening his eyes to meet hers. His clear blue gaze was still penetrating despite his red-rimmed eyes. “I-I don’t think I can.”
She could see how much the admission hurt his pride, and she said nothing, merely held out her hand. He hesitated before taking it, his own large hand engulfing hers.
She tugged but he didn’t budge, and she raised her eyebrows.
“You’re going to have to help, Mr. Brand. I can’t do this on my own.” His hand tightened around hers, and his jaw dropped incredulously.
“Did you just fucking call me Mister Brand? Are we back to that? In light of the fact that I know what you look like naked—”
“You do not,” she gasped. And he really didn’t. The first time they were together, after her sister and Mason’s mixed stag and hen party, they’d gone back to his hotel room, but like the encounter in the barn, they hadn’t initially made it out of their clothes, and later, when they had stripped, the room had been completely dark.
“Semantics. I’ve been inside you—silly formalities between us would just be ridiculous. Call me Sam, for fuck’s sake. Or Brand if that makes you feel better. Anything but mister. No point in pretending to be ingenuous.”
Pretending? She was hardly pretending. She was pretty unsophisticated. Sam Brand was never supposed to reenter her life, and she had no clue how to handle the situation. Yes, she had been intimate with the man, but on the understanding that it would never happen again and that he would leave soon afterward. Now here he was, and she didn’t know what to say to him or how to react around him.
Her hand was still in his; neither of them had a particularly firm grip on the other, but it was still alarmingly intimate. She tried to tug her hand free, but he tightened his fingers around hers.
CHAPTER THREE
“On three?” he asked, and she sighed before nodding. “Okay, one, two—fuck!”
He attempted to lever himself up on three, but because Lia had been expecting him to do so after three, she offered no resistance and tumbled gracelessly into his lap. She heard the agonized breath from his chest as she hit his injured arm on her way down and cringed at the unintentional pain she’d inflicted on him.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” His eyes shone with unshed tears of pain, and she felt close to crying herself at the sight of them. She patted ineffectually at his shoulders and face, her butt right in his crotch. He impatiently shoved her flapping hands away.
“Stop that!” he commanded curtly when she couldn’t seem to control her stupidly waving hands. He corralled her wrists, grabbing both in his good hand and holding them in a tight grip. “Jesus, you’re a fucking disaster zone.”