With the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches in my hand, I turn around to face her and swear the plate wobbles in my grip. What is it about this woman that affects me so deeply? That makes me feel off balance just seeing her fresh out of the shower, sans makeup?
Carefully setting the plate of sandwiches on the counter where she’s taken a seat on one of the high top barstools, I set a small bowl of soup next to the plate before her. Something catches my eye, and I notice she’s placed a paperback off to the side of the counter. Picking up the book, it’s a title I recognize. With a nod, I set it back down, walking around the counter to take my spot beside her.
“A Beneath book, huh? How far along are you? Has she slept with Simon yet?”
When my question is greeted with nothing but silence, I glance over to see that she appears stunned. It takes me a moment to realize why. Because, yeah.
My man-card just got downgraded with that shit.
Chapter Forty-Four
Noelle
Foster Kavanaugh knows—has read—a romance novel? Am I in an alternate universe? I know I’ve made him slightly uncomfortable because I haven’t been able to do anything but gawk at his response. Finally, he grumbles, “Eat your soup before it gets cold.”
Yeah. Because that’s totally what I want to do right now. Not.
He’s avoiding my gaze, focused on eating his sandwich, forearms resting on the counter. “Foster Kavanaugh,” the smile spreads across my face as I tease, “you got some ’splainin’ to do.”
His lips twist and he gives a little shrug. “Back when Raine was going through cancer treatment and had her surgery, she was laid up for a while, recuperating, and we all know she devours books like there’s no tomorrow.”
Turning to finally meet my eyes, his gaze appears almost clouded with memories and he swallows hard. “She’s always been like another sister to me, not to mention she has a heart of gold. So when the time came when she felt so bad she couldn’t read the book herself, I read it to her.” He gives another shrug, as if his actions weren’t anything spectacular.
Shifting his focus back on his plate, he adds, “I actually enjoyed the story a lot. Very well written.” The corners of his lips turn up. “Was kind of bummed when it ended.”
I mull this over for a brief moment before batting my eyelashes and asking sweetly, “Since I was hospitalized, does that mean you’ll read to me?”
His head whips around, flashing me a look I can’t decipher. “You want me to?”
Scanning his features, I drop the teasing tone to answer honestly. “It might be nice, actually.”
“Then,” his voice is low and deep and has almost a tender quality to it, “I’ll read to you after dinner.”
Wait! Wait! Mayday! Mayday! my brain is screaming in protest. Because, shit. What the hell did I get myself into? Foster Kavanaugh got all sweet with me and agreed to read a romance novel to me?
I glance down at the floor beneath where his large, manly feet—and now I’m a weirdo lusting over his feet—are hooked over one of the rungs of the barstool. Because I’m pretty sure it’s down there somewh—
“Drop something?”
My head jerks up at Foster’s question. “Nope.” Quickly, looking down at my bowl, I shovel a spoonful of soup into my mouth. Because I’m lying to him, of course. I was totally looking for something that dropped to the floor at his feet.
My freaking heart.
*
“Wait a minute,” I protest, making Foster pause in his reading. “There’s no way in hell she can resist Simon. I mean, come on. He’s hot.”
I’ve been badgering him to give me hints about the story, but he won’t budge. I’m the kind of person who likes to read the spoilers online for movies and I sometimes—okay, often—read the end of the book before I finish it. I’m impatient, damn it. It cannot be helped.
He peers at me from over the top of the book, only his eyes visible but I can see the amusement in their depths. “You have to wait and see.” The book raises, hiding his eyes as he mumbles, “Just like I said the last two hundred times you asked me.”
With a content smile, I close my eyes and listen to him, one of his large hands resting on my shin, where both of my legs are draped over his thighs. I’m lying back on the couch while he’s sitting, his thumb grazing my skin every so often. Harley’s lying on the floor, snoozing softly. Me? I’m over here, listening to Foster’s deep, sexy voice as he reads a sexy scene and feel myself getting hot and bothered. Shifting my legs, trying to ease the arousal beginning to strum through my body, my leg brushes against his crotch and, oh my. Someone else is getting turned on.
Opening my eyes, I watch him, that nearly imperceptible tic in his jaw evidence of him trying to maintain control. Moving my leg again, it’s instantly immobilized by his strong grip, his eyes meeting mine.
“You’re killing me with your squirming.”
Raising an eyebrow, I smile. “Why don’t you put the book down and get over here?”
Something crosses his face and I realize he hasn’t touched me nor has he kissed me since we got home from the hospital.