Chapter Eight

Grace sighed. It was going to be another night without sleep. A few days before, when her father had been there, it had threatened to take away any positive feeling she had since coming to the Crenshaws.

It helped tremendously when she remembered what Robert had said about never having to see her father again, but there was always a chance she would. Besides that, it frustrated her that she couldn’t control the way her body reacted when Robert was around. She knew she blushed more than she had in the beginning because the closer they got, the more his touching her became normal.

Knowing sleep was not coming anytime soon, she slid out of bed and pulled on her robe. Maybe warm milk would help. Hell, she was willing to do anything to get some sleep.

She’d lived there for over three months, so she pretty much knew where everything was. Grabbing a coffee cup from the shelf, she filled half of it with milk and stuck it in the microwave. When it was ready, she stood in front of the sink, sipping from the cup, and staring outside.

“What are you doing up, Sweetheart?”

A startled shriek burst from her, and her body jerked, causing her to lose her grip on the cup. It fell and shattered in the sink and on the counter.

“Aw, fuck. I’m sorry, Sweetheart. Don’t move. You have bare feet. I want to make sure there’s no glass on the floor,” he said.

Robert turned on the light over the sink and squatted next to her. Her body jolted when she felt his hand cup her lower leg.

“Easy,” he murmured. “I don’t see any on the floor.” He stood.

“I’ll clean it up. I’m the one that made the mess,” she said.

“But I’m the one that caused it. Let me help.”

Grace tried to hide her hand that was cut, but the blood was dripping on the shards of glass.

“You’re hurt,” he hissed.

“It’s fine. I’ll get a Band-Aid…”

“Fuck, no. You’ll let me help. Shit, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

She looked over her shoulder. “This is not your fault, Robert.”

“Say that again.”

“What? It’s not your fault?” she asked in confusion.

His hand landed on her hip. “No, my name.”

She inhaled. “Robert.” This time, it came out in a low, husky tone.

He pressed his forehead on the back of her skull and stayed silent for a minute. She was about to ask him if he was okay when he finally straightened.

“Let me take a look at your hand.”

Grace held it out, and he cupped it in the palm of his hand.

“Dammit,” he said.

She leaned forward to see, unconsciously pressing her ass against his thighs.

He stiffened and used his lower body to press her against the counter so she couldn’t move. “Stay still.”

The deep, raspy tone of his voice made a shiver race up her spine.

He grabbed some paper towels and pressed them against the cut on her palm. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“Okay.”

He cleaned the wound and put pressure on it until the bleeding stopped.

“This is a bad place for a cut. We might have to take you to the doctor and get stitches,” he told her.

Grace frantically shook her head. “No. I don’t want stitches,” she whined.

“If I feel you should get them, you’ll not fight me. I’d be doing it for your own good, Honey. Not to put you in pain. I don’t like seeing you in discomfort. You don’t want it to keep opening up, do you?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never had stitches, and I know it’s going to hurt.”

“I’ll be with you the whole time, Sweetheart. I’ll also have them give you a sedative so you don’t feel too much.”

“Okay,” she said and sniffed.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re a good girl.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Robert chuckled.

The bleeding was starting to stop. “Stay here. I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

He was gone in less than a minute, and he pressed against her back again, taking her breath away.

“You know this is the first time I’ve seen your hair down.”

“My father doesn’t like it like this, so I had to braid it every day,” she said.

“I do like it this way, so you’ll leave it loose.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder again. “Okay.”

After he’d placed a large Band-Aid over her cut, his hand slid around to her stomach and pressed.

The breath caught in her throat. They stood there for a long moment.

“Sweetheart, I think you need to get to bed because I’m getting close to turning you around and kissing you.”

“Oh.” She had no idea what to say. She wanted to yell yes, but she thought that might make her sound loose.

“Yeah, oh . I will eventually kiss you when I think you’re ready unless you don’t like the idea.”

“No. I … I’d like that.”

“Good. Do you like having my hands on you?” he asked.

“Yes. I dream about it.”

He groaned. “I dream of having you under me and pinned as I take you hard.”

She shivered. “I don’t know if I’d like that.”

He stilled. “Sweetheart, are you a virgin?”

She could feel her face heat with embarrassment.

“I need to know,” he said.

She nodded.

“Fuck. The thought of you being just mine and that I’m the only man who touches you makes my desire rise.”

“I can’t imagine anyone but you touching me. You’re the only one with whom I’ve felt this achy feeling.”

“We have to stop,” he murmured. “I want you to go to bed. Eventually, I’ll want you in my bedroom. Would you be okay with that?”

“Oh, um … I think so.”

“Good. I’ll check out your cut tomorrow to see how it’s doing.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her head. “Now, go before I change my mind.”

She slipped to the side, turned, and hurried into the hallway, which took her to the bedroom she was using.

Grace took off her robe and tossed it on the chair before sliding back into bed. With her body buzzing with desire, she thought she’d have a problem falling asleep, but within a minute, she was out.