I’ll come back later,” she said.
“You’d rather see him when he’s awake?” Joe’s tone was wry and teasing.
Brigit chuckled and Kellen bristled inwardly. He didn’t appreciate being the butt of their joke.
“You make a good point,” she said. “Okay. I’m going in. I’ll be quiet so as not to disturb him.”
“I know you will.” This time Joe chuckled. “Hey, I’m going to make wheatgrass smoothies. Stop by the kitchen on your way out. I’ll make one for you.”
“A wheatgrass smoothie?”
“They’re delicious and good for you.”
“Sure. Can’t wait.”
Liar, Kellen thought.
Footsteps sounded then. Joe leaving? Where was Brigit? Kellen strained his ears, listening for the creak of floorboards or the rustle of fabric—anything to announce that she was moving about inside the bedroom. Finally, on the opposite side of the room from the hallway, he heard a door squeak. The bathroom? The closet? He chanced opening his eyes. The room was dim thanks to the pulled shades. It wasn’t quite dusk outside, although the weather certainly made it seem later. Brigit was in the walk-in closet, standing under the light. He studied her profile as she rose up on her toes and pulled down a basket from the one of the shelves.
She was slender and pretty in a way that left him to wonder if she purposefully downplayed her looks. After she gathered whatever it was that she’d come in to get, she turned. Through slit eyes, Kellen watched her switch off the light and gently close the closet.
She started to tiptoe toward the bedroom door, but then stopped at the foot of the bed. If she had looked at his face, she would have realized he was awake. His eyes were fully open now. But she wasn’t looking at his face or any other part of his anatomy found above the waist. She was studying his bad leg, starting at the ankle. The break had healed, but the not the damage. The calf was noticeably smaller than its counterpart on his good leg. Joe attributed the disparity to muscle atrophy, although he couldn’t guarantee Kellen that regular workouts would fix that.
Her gaze wandered up to his knee before skimming his thigh. It wasn’t a pretty sight, to be sure. Nothing could be done to erase the scars from where jagged bone had ripped through his flesh or the multiple surgeries that had followed.
She didn’t strike him as the squeamish sort, but she closed her eyes briefly. Did he disgust her? Did she pity him? He wasn’t sure which reaction would be worse. He only knew he could tolerate no more of her thorough examination.
“Seen enough?”
She nearly dropped the belt she’s retrieved from the closet.
“You startled me.”
Spoiling for a fight, he levered up on one elbow. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I didn’t mean to stare. I was...I was just...”
“Curious?” he demanded.
She cleared her throat. Even in the dim light, he could tell she was flustered and probably blushing. Embarrassed? Definitely. But not turned on. Why would she be? He was an invalid, repulsive. Angry with them both, he spat out in a suggestive tone, “My leg might be mangled, but I can assure you, everything else is in working order.”
She did drop the belt now, and her hand flew to her chest. “Excuse me?”
“I think you heard me.”
At that, he expected her to stomp out of the room in a huff. He should have known his dot-every-i and cross-every-t manager would do no such thing. Indeed, Brigit drew closer and came around the side of the bed.
“I heard you. I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“And now you expect me to apologize,” he said, keeping his tone insolent.
“As a matter of fact...” She fisted her hands, settled them on her hips and sent him an arched look.
Nice hips. Not too wide, not too narrow. Neatly rounded, and along with her firm backside, just right. Given Kellen’s position on the bed, the hips he was admiring were practically at eye level. His mouth watered and parts of his body that had been dormant for months began to stir back to life. Some of his frustration and anger dissipated, only to be replaced by feelings that were far more dangerous.
Even though he knew he was playing with fire, Kellen was helpless to keep his gaze from traveling up Brigit’s slender frame and touching on all of the parts that interested him.
“Well?” she demanded.
Their gazes met, collided really. He didn’t see sparks fly, but he swore he felt them. They showered his skin. The sensation was life-affirming. He reveled in it.
Common sense took a backseat to desire, and he taunted, “You first.”
“What?”
“You apologize first.”
“You expect me to apologize to you?”
Her tone hovered between incredulous and royally ticked off. Perversely, he found it a turn-on. As he did her narrowed eyes and pinched lips.
“That’s right.”
“What am I to apologize for?” she demanded.
“Well, for starters, you’re trespassing. You’re in my bedroom...uninvited.” A small matter that could be remedied easily enough, his libido whispered before he could quiet it.
“This is...well, until this afternoon, it was my bedroom. I’m hardly trespassing.”
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