You Complicate Me

by Isabel Jordan

  She threw up all over his shoes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I have Ebola.”

  Nick shook his head and pushed her hair off her sweaty forehead as she rested her cheek on the toilet seat. He was pretty sure she’d just heaved up more food than he’d eaten all week. No doubt she felt like she had Ebola. Hell, his stomach hurt just watching her. “Gage was pretty sure it’s food poisoning. Unless you, your mom, Sadie, and doucheBrad all have Ebola.”

  She groaned and curled into the fetal position on the bathroom floor. He wished he could carry her to bed, but every time he’d tried, the movement made her puke again. So, he settled for gently shifting her so that his thigh was between her face and the cold marble tile.

  “I’d be so embarrassed if I wasn’t dying,” she muttered.

  Feeling completely helpless and hating every minute of it, he laid a cool, damp washcloth across her forehead and smoothed her hair behind her ears. “I’ve told you before that you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about with me, angel.”

  She snorted, then moaned. “I’ve puked on you. Twice. You’ve seen me with my head in the toilet. A lot. There’s not a woman alive who’d want to be seen by a man who looks like you when she’s like this.”

  “Tell you what. Next time I have the flu or food poisoning, I’ll give you a call so you can see me with my head in the toilet. Then we’ll be even. How’s that?”

  “That’ll work.”

  “Good.” He lifted her clammy hand and kissed her fingertips. “No more being embarrassed with me.”

  She struggled for a moment to lift her head before letting it drop back to his thigh. “Yeah, about that,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “I could use some help changing my clothes.”

  Under normal circumstances, he might’ve made a joke about her request to help get her out of her dress. But at the moment, he just wasn’t in a laughing mood. “Sure. Want the T-shirt you slept in last night?”

  “That’d be good,” she said against his thigh.

  “Ready for me to try and move you again?”

  Grace blew out a sharp breath. “Oh, sure. Why not? I mean, it’s been, what, three minutes since I last vomited?”

  “I’ll be extra gentle.”

  “Do you really think you can dead-lift me off the floor?”

  In answer to her question, he lifted her straight off the floor without even really trying and climbed as slowly as possible to his feet. Her head lolled against his shoulder and she gave him a weak smile that pinched at his heart.

  “Wow,” she said. “That would’ve been really sexy if I hadn’t just been on the bathroom floor.”

  “We’ll try it again when you’re back up to a hundred percent.”

  He laid her on the bed and she rolled to her side so that he could unzip her dress. He refused to notice the miles and miles of smooth skin and lacey red underwear exposed as the zipper made its long, slow, torturous journey down. Refused.

  Through some miracle, he managed to shimmy the dress off her pliant body and slip the T-shirt over her head. She shivered. “Cold?” he asked.

  She nodded, teeth chattering.

  He crawled into bed and sat back against the headboard before easing her up so that she sat between his splayed legs with her head on his chest. She burrowed into him when he tucked the blanket around her.

  “You’re so warm,” she murmured.

  Yep. On fire. Had been since he first met her.

  Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he saw that it was Gage, so he answered for her.

  “How’s the patient?” Gage asked.

  “A little better, I think. She hasn’t puked in like, what, five minutes?”

  Grace groaned against his chest. “Don’t say ‘puked.’”

  He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Sorry. Gage, how’s my sister doing?”

  “About like Grace, from the sound of it.”

  Grace looked up and whispered, “If you need to go be with Sadie, I understand. I’ll be OK.”

  Nick frowned down at her. She was so weak she could barely move, and she was giving him permission to leave. There was selfless, and then there was just martyrdom. Grace was currently within kissing distance of the latter. “I’m staying.” To Gage he said, “Michael is with Sadie, right?”

  Gage snorted. “Yeah, right. He saw her puke once and ran for the hills. I’m with her, though. I won’t leave her.”

  Nick heard weak protests in the background, then Gage’s muffled response: “Okay. I’ll tell you what. If you can stand up on your own and walk to the bathroom by yourself without hanging onto the furniture, I’ll leave.”

  A moment of silence, then Gage said, “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Like I said, I’m not leaving.”

  Nick sighed. “Grace, honey, would you feel better if we switched and Gage stayed with you and I stayed with Sadie?”

  She shook her head and burrowed into him deeper. “Nope. I’m warm.”

  Gage must have heard, because he said, “I’d rather stay with Sadie. She’s underweight and already dehydrated, so she needs someone with her who’ll push her to drink at regular intervals. I’m more likely to do that than you are. Especially since I seem to bring out her cantankerous side.”

  Nick heard his sister’s muffled voice again before Gage told her, “Yep. That’s right. He’s a nice guy and I’m not. Michael’s a nice guy, too. But I have one advantage over them: I’m here.”

  Good point, Nick thought. Harsh, but good.

  It didn’t sit well with Nick that Michael didn’t stick around and take care of Sadie. Even if he was mad at her for not telling him the truth about their family, it seemed like the least he could do was hold her hair back for her while she puked.

  And knowing Sadie, she’d never ask him to. The kid had never asked for anything her whole life.

  “How’re my mom and Grandma Ruthie?”

  Nick opened his mouth to direct Grace’s question to Gage, but he must’ve heard her, because he answered, “Your mom is sleeping. Your dad put his Kindle down long enough to take care of her. And Ruthie never got that sick. Just a mild case of indigestion.”

  “How is that possible?” Grace asked. “I saw her eat the bisque. I think she even ate more than I did.”

  Nick practically heard Gage shrug. “She’s immune, I guess. More proof that she is, in fact, the devil. I’m only worried about you and Sadie at this point. With her weight and your crazy metabolism, you two are in the most danger.”

  “What about Brad?” Grace asked.

  Nick frowned. Food poisoning was too good for that son of a bitch.

  “Like I said, I’m only worried about you and Sadie at this point,” Gage said dryly.

  Grace sighed. “Will you check on him, Gage?”

  “No. But I’ll send your dad to turn him over if he’s face-down in his own vomit. Good enough?”

  Nick felt Grace smile weakly against his chest. “Good enough.”

  “What do I need to do for her, Gage?” Nick asked.

  “Keep her hydrated. Just little sips of water often until she can hold it down. After a few hours of that, she can drink as much as she wants, but I want her to lay off food for a while. We’ll start her on dry toast and bananas tomorrow.”

  “You sound like you’re talking about an infant,” Grace said on a groan. “Should he burp me and change me while he’s at it?”

  Nick chuckled, then thanked Gage and ended the call.

  “Think you can rest a little now?” he asked.

  She snuggled in closer, her hip pressing against his groin, and he barely suppressed a groan.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Want to watch some TV with me?”

  He hated TV. But he’d pretty much give her anything she wanted at this point if it made her happy. At least this was something he could do for her. “Sure.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Jesus, I thought they were brother and sister!”

  Grace smiled as
Nick sat up straighter, as entranced by the show as she knew he’d be. Even people who didn’t normally watch television—which just seemed un-American to Grace—couldn’t resist Game of Thrones. Wait until he saw what Jaime Lannister was going to do to—

  “Holy fuck! Did he just push that kid out the window?”

  “Yep.”

  Nick lapsed into speechlessness as the final credits rolled, which Grace understood completely. The show had done that to her more times than she could count.

  Grace snagged the remote out of his hand and shut off the television. He let out a disappointed sigh and asked, “Ready to get some rest?”

  “No,” she said. “I just need to rest my eyes. Keep talking to me.”

  And he did. They talked for hours.

  They covered everything from his days as a poor trailer park kid in Jersey, to his time in the military, to the attack that ended his career as a Marine, opening the door to his career as an air marshal.

  They talked about her awkward preteen years, before she found make-up and a good hair gel to tame her unruly mop of hair, back when she wore glasses and braces and was sure no one would ever love her.

  He listened intently as she talked about her marriage, and her guilt for not feeling, well, more about its demise.

  Then, because the conversation was getting way too heavy for her liking, she switched to lighter fare.

  “Iron Man or Batman?”

  He scoffed. “Duh. Superman.”

  Typical dude answer. “Wrong. The correct answer is Iron Man. Although, you could’ve made an argument for Batman. Superman is just wrong.”

  “Self-centered rich dudes with God complexes over an alien superhero?” She felt him shake his head. “It’s not even close. Besides, I thought you’d choose Wonder Woman.”

  Now she scoffed. “No way. That invisible jet thing is just lame. Ruins her whole image.”

  “Fair enough. John McClane or Martin Riggs?” he asked.

  This time she scoffed. “Jason Bourne.”

  He chuckled. “Touché. Star Wars or Star Trek?”

  “Trick question. Both are right. Unless you’re talking about the Star Wars prequels, then I say nuke Anakin. And if you’re talking about Star Trek: The Next Generation, I say nuke Wesley.”

  “OK.” His fingers found their way into her hair and gently started shifting through the strands. Grace fought the urge to rub against his hand and purr like a kitten. “Football or baseball?” he asked.

  “MMA fighting.”

  “You like MMA fighting?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy two burly dudes beating the crap out of each other. And it takes more skill and stamina than football and baseball combined.”

  “True enough. Music?”

  “Anything but country.”

  He held up his hand for a high-five, and she slapped her palm to his. Nick smiled. “See?” he asked. “We were destined to spend this week together. We’re practically soul mates.”

  Her heart seized. It really wasn’t fair for someone like him to say that to a semi-bitter divorcée such as herself. It did unspeakable things to her ovaries.

  He sighed. “Don’t overthink it, Grace.”

  “What?”

  “I can practically hear the gears in that giant brain of yours locking up,” he said. “I’m not going to push you into anything you’re not ready for. Just enjoy the moment.”

  She snorted.

  “Okay,” he conceded. “Maybe not this exact moment. But when you’re better, just…go with the flow a little. Let things happen on their own.”

  The words sounded foreign to her. She was a born planner, a strategist. She could come up with a plan for how to plan more efficiently, for God’s sake. Enjoying the moment was not something she had much experience with.

  But then again, she had even less experience with guys like Nick and the way he made her feel. “Fair enough,” she finally whispered.

  He pressed his warm lips lightly against her temple. She shivered in response. “Get some sleep, angel. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  She sure hoped so. Because right now, she was starting to feel like maybe the food poisoning wasn’t such a terrible price to pay for the privilege of falling asleep in Nick O’Connor’s arms.

  And damned if that didn’t make her feel like a heroine in one of the old Hallmark Channel movies she used to mock with Gage.

  Grace Montgomery: pathetic is thy name.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nick had lost all feeling in his arm and one leg hours ago, and he had a crick in his neck that he would surely be feeling for days, but he could honestly say, he’d slept better than he had in…well, ever he supposed.

  For the first time since his discharge from the Marines, Nick slept the kind of sleep he assumed normal people—people who hadn’t almost been turned into chum by an IED—slept every night. Blissful, sound, dreamless sleep.

  He supposed it could be because he was starting to move past the trauma, starting to heal both physically and mentally. But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but think his peaceful sleep had nothing to do with healing and everything to do with the soft, warm woman lying so trustingly in his arms.

  Grace was sprawled on top of him with her head on his chest and her tousled hair splayed over his shoulder and throat. One of her arms was flung over his stomach, and her knee was tucked up snugly against his groin.

  Even after the night she’d had, her hair still smelled faintly of limes and coconuts—a scent he realized he would associate with Grace from this point forward. And like Pavlov’s freakin’ dog, the scent would probably always make his mouth water, like it was now.

  Grace let out a snuffling little snore and tucked her hand into the waistband of his pants. He groaned, torn between amusement and arousal. Seemed Grace was a bit of a slutty sleeper.

  Too bad for him that sluttiness didn’t carry forward into her waking hours.

  When Grace roused and yanked her hand out of his pants, muttering a horrified curse under her breath, Nick pretended to be just waking up himself to spare her the embarrassment of being caught molesting him two mornings in a row.

  Grace eased off him, then groaned and flopped over on her stomach next to him.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. “Any better?”

  She turned her face toward him, but didn’t lift her head off the bed. “Well, I don’t think I’m going to die anymore.”

  He grinned as he took in her wildly tousled—and completely vertical in random spots—hair and the thick mascara smudges under her eyes. Even though her skin was unnaturally pale and she looked like she’d been wrestling with a cougar half the night, she was gorgeous.

  “It’s nice of you to pretend you were asleep while I was molesting you,” she added.

  So much for trying to preserve her dignity. “I was just afraid you’d stop if I moved or said anything.”

  She snorted with laughter, then moaned and pressed her hand to her forehead. “Oh, maybe I spoke too soon about that whole not-dying thing.”

  “Headache?”

  “Yeah.”

  Nick stood up and rolled his neck from one side to the other, then gave his arms a shake, willing the blood to start flowing through them instead of pooling uselessly in his groin. When he could feel his hands again, he grabbed Grace a couple of aspirins from his overnight bag.

  He twisted the cap off a water bottle and handed it to her, along with the aspirins. “Gage said last night that if you kept some water down, I could give you these if you needed them. Then, if those stay down, we can start on food.”

  She grumbled, but took the aspirins. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat again.”

  He sat back down on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair back off her forehead. “Yeah, I had food poisoning once and thought the same thing. You’ll be back to normal by tomorrow. You’re tough, Grace Montgomery.”

&nb
sp; She blinked up at him. “I am?”

  “Had to be to survive dinner last night. And I’m not talking about the bisque.”

  She laughed outright this time. “That was typical. Nothing special at all.”

  He couldn’t stop his gaze from dropping to her mouth, and he heard her breath catch. “No, that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, his voice even lower and rougher than usual. “There’s nothing typical about you, Grace.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was actually three days before Grace felt well enough to venture out into the world.

  Guess she wasn’t as tough as Nick thought she was.

  But despite it all—the vomiting, the endless binge watching on Netflix, which she knew he hated, being stuck in bed, her being practically tethered to the toilet—Nick never left her side.

  They’d only known each other a few days, and yet, she felt closer to Nick than she could remember ever feeling to Brad—or any other man in her life, for that matter. She knew it was insane. There was no such thing as love at first sight. And yet…

  He’d taken care of her time and time again. He could’ve left her with Gage, or let her parents take care of her. But he’d stuck with her for days in a room that smelled like stale air and vomit, talked to her, kept her company, made her laugh and feel desirable, even when she knew she was hell and gone from looking her best. And then there was the way he looked at her.

  Nick looked at her like she was priceless. The most incredible thing he’d ever seen. No one had ever looked at her like that. No one.

  She’d even gotten over her embarrassment at waking up draped over him every morning. It seemed her body just took whatever it wanted during the night.

  Every night, she went to sleep on her side of the bed. And every morning, she woke up in the same position: splayed across Nick’s chest with her face buried in the crook of his neck.

  There was always a moment before she was fully awake, before her brain told her she should pull away from him, when she was just able to feel. Feel safe and warm in his arms. Feel turned on by the slide of his warm skin against hers. Feel the possessive way that, even in his sleep, he cupped the back of her head in one hand, and her ass in the other.