He forced himself out of Lacie’s room and back into the living area, taking comfort in the hint of messiness. It was so unlike his room at the Pub. There, everything was done in monochromatic shades; the furniture had clean, sleek lines, and the only personal items were some framed pictures he’d hung in a perfectly-spaced geometric pattern over his desk.
In contrast, Lacie’s furniture was comfortable, an eclectic collection of pieces that spanned a multitude of styles, but each was uniquely appealing. There were photos and personal mementos everywhere, including hand-made gifts from her students. It looked as though Lacie kept every one of them, for they now overran the shelving space she’d allotted. There were several scrapbook albums of hand-drawn pictures and notes as well, each written from small hands and big hearts.
It was easy to get a clear picture of Lacie’s life from the photos alone; they were everywhere. There was a lot of her with her family – her mom and dad, Corinne, and a male who could only have been her brother, Brian. They shared similar features – Brian had the same easy going smile, same blue eyes and blonde hair. The love they had for each other came through the still shots clearly. The last one must have been taken just before Brian was deployed. It showed him and Davidson, both dressed in fatigues with fresh buzz-cuts, standing proudly with Lacie between them.
The mere sight of Davidson that close to Lacie made the small hairs on the back of Shane’s neck stand on end. The man was in a lot of the pictures, spanning most of her life. And in all of them, Shane noted, he was always looking at Lacie or touching her in some way. There was no doubt in his mind that Davidson was in love with her, and probably had been for some time, but he had hidden it well. Only a man trained to notice such things – or a man who planned on devoting the rest of his life to his croie - would spot the subtle body language and the possessive gleam in Davidson’s eye.
Chapter Nine
Shane must have dozed off at some point. The next thing he knew, morning sun was streaming through the window and Lacie was tucking a soft blanket around him.
“You’re supposed to be in bed,” he said, greedily breathing in her light, floral scent and something minty, like toothpaste or mouthwash.
The grin she gave him took his breath away. “I was, but I think fourteen hours is enough, don’t you?”
“What time is it?”
“Around eight.”
Shane sat up and tugged Lacie onto the sofa with him, mindful of her injured hand. Lacie offered no protest, joining him easily. There was plenty of room, but Lacie’s body was nice and snug against his side as he slipped an arm around her shoulder.
“Thanks for hanging out,” she said into his shoulder.
“My pleasure,” he said, meaning it. “How’s the hand?”
*
“Sore, but manageable. I think I’m going to stick with the over the counter stuff today, though. I’d prefer to be lucid for a little while.” And not miss another minute with you. “I guess Corinne told you what happened, huh?”
Shane stroked her upper arm with lazy movements that had her nestling closer. It was impossible to get close enough to him; an effort not to climb up on his lap. Thankfully, she managed to control her baser impulses and he didn’t seem to mind the invasion of his personal space.
“Yes. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
She smiled against his collarbone, discreetly drawing his scent into her lungs. It was clean and fresh and just slightly musky; he was the best smelling man she’d ever come across, hands-down.
“At least you’re not giving me a lecture about not having it taken care of sooner. You’d swear Corinne was the one getting her bones re-broken the way she carried on.”
“Sometimes seeing someone you care for hurting is worse than feeling it yourself.” The deep tone of his voice, the depth of feeling, went past her auditory systems and well into her heart, making her sigh. Shane Callaghan had a way of doing that to her.
She was falling hard and fast for him, she realized. She would have to be careful before she made a complete fool out of herself. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him off. Heck, she was scaring herself a little with these powerful urges and feelings.
“You’re right. I would have been worse if our places were reversed,” she agreed, then asked suddenly, “Are you hungry? You’ve been babysitting all night, cramming yourself into a sofa that was not designed for anyone over five-ten, and been an all-around good sport. The least I can do is make you breakfast. You strike me as a waffle kind of guy. Am I right?”