Page 79 of Love and Gravity

No, it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be.

She didn’t know what she was trying to say, because rejection was so not what the man had inspired in her when he had whispered her name. Before she could say anything he dropped the blanket around her shoulders, and she had to fight not to melt into it like the Wicked Witch caught in a downpour. It was heavenly. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had such luxurious fabric against her skin.

“Let’s get some rest.” He moved to push her back against the bed. She said nothing but watched him while he slipped her jeans from her hips, this time without any wandering fingers to make her blood heat up. His touch was gentle, caring. Familiar in a way that made her heart ache for something she couldn’t quite put into words.

She blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes as he moved around the room, dimming the lights and magicking another fluffy cloud blanket out of nowhere. She took the sleep shirt he offered her with a nod and, when he left the room, she got ready for bed.

She had just settled in when he returned with a mug of tea and a tablet under one arm. He handed her the mug, and when she eyed the tablet with curiosity he tossed it onto the bed next to her.

“Queue up one of those god awful trash programs I know you watch.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Really?”

“I knew you watched those things,” he sighed with a shake of her head. Under normal circumstances, Grace might truly fight the man on saying one word on her taste of viewing pleasure, but she didn’t. Not tonight. In fact, if she had been the Grinch her heart would have swelled to three times its size, but seeing as she was only human her heart nearly burst out of her chest.

He was taking care of her. No one ever took care of her.That was her job.

She gave a shake of her head and pretended to be offended, but there was no heat in her words. “I’ll have you know I watch film noir and reruns ofMasterpiece Theatre, so I have no idea what trash you’re referring to, sir.” She sipped from her cup while he pulled on a pair of sleep pants. He rolled his eyes at her and stretched his arms overhead, almost causing her to shatter her porcelain mug, because he was a work of art.

“Sonofa,” she whispered, trying to avoid the sloshed tea that had nearly burned her hand. There wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t look like Michelangelo had forced him into being during a particularly inspired fit of creativity.

“Eyes up here,” he said, though there was no mistaking the pleasure she saw as he strutted toward her.

“Someone’s certainly full of himself,” she muttered, but she didn’t bother to look away from the muscles exposed to her eyes. She’d been caught—may as well window shop, right? “For that you can sit in the tea spot,” she said pointing at the spot next to her the tea had gotten wet.

“Fine, but keep your tea in your cup from now on.” He smirked and slipped into bed beside her.

She hummed but said nothing else. She loaded up a French film she intended to watch to prove a point, but made it through no more than twenty minutes until she gave up and switched to her favorite housewives show. So sue her—she had to keep abreast of current events, okay?

When she looked to see if Anton was judging her she only saw that he watched the screen with a rapt look on his face. How did the man get more amazing every second? It was criminal.

Only after she had finished her tea and began to nod off did he nudge her onto her side, slip the tablet from her hands and turn out the light. Her arms automatically closed around a pillow to fill the empty space beside her, but she froze when Anton pressed himself up against her back.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, breath warm against her ear. “Can I hold you?”

“Please,” she murmured back without hesitation. A little sigh escaped her when he brushed her hair off her neck and pressed a kiss against the exposed flesh. And then he put his arm around her and pulled her tight to the curve of his body. She relaxed into his hold, the gentleness of the moment wrapping itself around them like a delicate web of fine spun sugar. It was sweet and fleeting, but for now it was absolutely perfect.

nineteen

“Physics is like sex:sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it.”

—Richard P. Feynman

“Why do you say that?”

Grace turned, looking up from the coffee she had been too impatient to wait for while it finished its brew time—which meant that she had unsuccessfully tried to swap her cup out for the carafe, only to be rewarded with a solid morning scalding.

“Say what?” she asked, wincing and shoving her hand under the tap while eyeballing her filling coffee cup. It wouldn’t do to spill her cup onto the counter, not with the injury she’d just sustained, and she made a wild grab to shove the carafe back into place when her cup nearly overran with black gold.

“Odin’s beard,” she muttered, sliding the cup closer to her with her uninjured hand.

“That,” Anton said, coming into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and took out a mug before waiting for the carafe to finish brewing, like a well-adjusted adult.

“Do what?” she asked again, shutting off the tap and drying her hands on her sweater. There wasn’t time for towels when there was fresh-brewed coffee at hand. If she didn’t have a cup soon, she was liable to give the science minions a run for their publication money. She was a certified addict and she wasn’t too keen on the migraines that set in when she went without.

“Odin’s beard?” he asked. “I came into to you yelling and I quote, ‘by Thor’s hammer.’”

She waved a hand. “Well, yeah, that burn was no joke. If you have a better way of describing it, then I want to know.”