Sitting rigid in the chair, Belle pushed her tongue against her cheek, glaring at her laptop. The bulkiness of the cast on her wrist made it nearly impossible to move the mouse, and when it slipped again, she smacked her left palm on the table.

“Damn it! How many more weeks do I have to wear this?” she grumbled and narrowed her gaze at the offending impediment.

Greyson laughed quietly behind her. “Doc said up to six weeks, but the break didn’t look too bad so there’s hope. Why don’t you let me help you? You can tell me what to do for a change,” he suggested.

She rubbed her forehead hard, but the headache didn’t abate. Greyson stalked to the table in the way that always caught her gaze. He set down a steaming cup of coffee for her before settling his large frame in the chair across the table, so far away from where she wanted him. Her fingers danced along the top of the ceramic mug, eyeing him as he sipped his coffee and held her gaze easily. The words were right on the tip of her tongue, ready to lash out at him, but she breathed in deeply through her nose and let it out, counting to ten in her mind.

Five days. That’s how long she’d spent in the hospital after the car wreck, and for those five days, she had contemplated what living with Greyson would be like. It excited her and caused her heart to pound in her chest. Though she had a broken wrist, stitches in her shoulder, and a severely bruised abdomen, her mind wandered through a world of fantasies of him carrying her to his bed, which she was delighted to know was a four-poster. There, he would make love to her in so many hot, sexy ways as she kissed him until they were both breathless. That was what her mind told her would happen.

She had no way of knowing the second she stepped over the threshold to his home, he would suddenly act as if they hadn’t shared more than a few heated kisses. As if he hadn’t driven her to ecstasy in the copy room that night.

All the missed chances of taking her hand or snuggling with her on his over-sized leather couch infuriated her to no end. Their bedrooms were right next to each other, but he made no attempt to finish what they’d started. Her eyes narrowed as she mirrored him, sipping her coffee before turning back to the work at hand.

“So is that a no on my offer to help?” he asked, his voice the deep growl she once loved but which now grated on her nerves.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled and squinted at the screen. Her hand hovered over the mouse. The cast drove her crazy, but yanking it off would be stupid. Her wrist needed to heal if she ever hoped to sketch again. She picked up the mouse with her left, moved the cord around her laptop, and let out a sharp laugh as she set it back down. “There, that’ll do it.”

“You’re not left-handed,” he pointed out, scratching his beard.

Belle’s eyes immediately darted to the movement, so close to those lips she desperately wanted against hers again. His tight black t-shirt hugging his body did not help calm her raging hormones either, and she crossed her legs under the table.

“I’ll figure it out,” she said and focused on her work. When he didn’t leave the table, her hand stilled and she glanced up at the worried frown on his face. “Don’t you have work to do? Unless you want me to do something for you.”

“I’ve got all my work under control,” he insisted and buried his face behind his mug.

Belle ground her teeth. Using her left hand, she painstakingly managed to get a few more details finished for her project, but it took too damn long. The date taunted her from the bottom of her monitor, and she huffed, leaning back in her chair and resting her head back so she stared at the ceiling.

“Give it time. You’ll have the cast off soon, everything else will be healed, and you’ll be off the pain meds. Then you can catch up,” he encouraged her, but she shook her head.

“No, actually I won’t. This project is due way too soon, but it’s fine. I’m almost finished,” she lied.

She was nowhere near finished, and all she saw in her mind was her failure. She had come so far, but now she would fail because of a damn car accident and an inability to finish her work. She contemplated having Greyson help her. He offered every day, but it wouldn’t be fair to the other students. He was a genius when it came to designs, and his arrogance at maintaining his reputation would get in the way. She didn’t want him changing anything on her project, and she sure as hell didn’t want to get in an argument with him over what worked and what didn’t.

“How about breakfast?” he asked and stood. He walked close enough to brush by her arm—but didn’t—and moved to the fridge. “I have some bacon and eggs.”

“That’s fine,” she muttered with a heavy sigh.

The fridge closed, and she sensed his eyes watching her. “What’s going on with you? You seem depressed.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I can’t do anything,” she said and almost let slip that she had no idea what she was even doing in his house if she was nothing more than his roommate. “It’s just hard. I’ve never been handicapped like this.”

“You’ve never broken a bone? Ever?”

She turned in her chair and shook her head. “Have you?”

He cringed and his hand went to his right hand, holding his ribs. “Three of these, my nose, and four fingers. And my leg, but that happened when I was a kid.”

“And the others all happened at once?” she asked surprised. Sheepishly, he nodded. “What did you do?”

He leaned on the counter, his arms folded, and with a grim twist to his lips, said, “You aren’t the only one with a temper around here, remember?”

“You got in a fight,” she stated, and the glimmer of remembrance in his eyes gave it away.

“For the record, I didn’t start it.”

“But you ended it, and I’m guessing the other guy ended up in a hospital bed next to you,” she said, watching his face darken even more. Her heart fluttering, she gripped the back of the chair harder with her left hand. Since living together, this was the first time he’d opened up about his past even a little. Another glimpse into her stoic and arrogant bear of a man.

“He did,” he replied stiffly. “And I was forced to go to anger management classes.”

Hiding the smile creeping across her face, Belle turned back around quickly. “Did that work for you?”

Picturing Greyson sitting in a room with other people, talking about his emotions and what made him angry, presented an amusing scene. She could imagine him rolling his eyes, growling curses under his breath, forced to count to ten every time he was upset.

“I have my moments,” he answered, and she heard the fridge door open again. “Just like you do.”

Her amusement vanished, and she fiddled with her mouse. He saw her moments firsthand, and her face flushed from embarrassment. She’d managed her anger fairly well over the years… until she met Greyson. He pushed all the right buttons at all the wrong times. She couldn’t even count the number of times she’d had to hurry off before she exploded at him while staying here. He hovered like a freaking helicopter. She wanted to lay back and enjoy him taking care of her, but all he did was force her to eat three meals a day, take her pain pills that tended to make her a little loopy, and sleep. There was no pampering and no gentle touches or kisses. Nothing.

That was enough to make any woman tear her hair out in frustration.

The sound of a pan hitting the stove tore her from her fantasies of this actually being a romantic time together, but who was she kidding? He was a damn womanizer. He’d even admitted he hadn’t been in a real relationship for years. Probably forgot how to act.

No excuse, she thought and started on her work again, tweaking a few details the best she could with her left hand. One of these nights, she would have to push him to either make a move or admit he wasn’t ready for this. Hell, maybe I’m not ready for this.

* * *

Greyson laid out the bacon in a skillet, scrambled a bowl of eggs, and once the bacon was finished, pulled it out and fixed the eggs. Behind him, Belle whispered under her breath every now and then. He wanted to take her damn laptop away until she agreed to let him help, but every time he suggested giving her a hand, annoyance flared in her eyes and he bit back the words. Since bringing her to his house after the accident, he was treading on thin ice.

He had never lived with a woman before. Having Belle in the house excited and unnerved him at the same time. He tugged on his beard as he continued cooking breakfast, debating if this was a good idea. In the hospital when he told her she was coming to stay with him, he imagined using it as a time for them to get to know each other and explore more than just a few moments locked in each other’s arms at the office. The second she stepped inside, however, seeing her in pain, knowing she came from such a hard past, he worried he would only make her life worse.

He’d never been the knight in shining armor type, yet he was attempting to be just that. From what he could tell over the past few days, it didn’t make her happy. It annoyed the living hell out of her every time he fetched a drink for her or adjusted a pillow for her wrist. Even reminding her to take her pain meds caused her jaw to clench.

The breakfast finished, he dished the food onto two plates and moved quietly around the island to the wooden kitchen table with enough room for six, a table that had never been filled. When he saw Belle’s face, he stifled a laugh, grinning widely. Her tongue stuck out between her lips, and her eyes narrowed in concentration as she studied the monitor. His chest ached, and he wanted to reach out and smooth the frown lines on her brow, but his hands tightened on the plates and he resisted. Belle wanted more than just a night, he knew that, and part of him balked at the thought. Most nights, he worried about why he cared so much if this didn’t work out. Seeing her in pain was not an ideal situation for him.

“Breakfast,” he said and she flinched. Her hand moved on the mouse with a jerk, and she flared her nostrils as she glared at the screen. “Damn—sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said sharply with a smile, one he’d come to know all too well.

“You need to eat,” he said, holding his ground when she looked ready to tell him no. “The doc said to eat with your pain meds and build up your strength, so just shut up and eat.”

“And if I’m not hungry?”

“Then I get on the phone with the doc like he told me to and let him tell you why not eating is not good for you.” He shoved the plate closer and handed over silverware. “Eat, please. I’ll get your meds.”

She huffed but took the fork with her left hand and picked around the eggs. “I… uh, I was wondering something,” she murmured quietly.

The tone of her voice made him pause, his hand on the pain med bottle. “About?”

His heart thundered in his chest, waiting for her to tell him that this wasn’t working and that she wanted to leave. He wondered what his gut reaction would be if she said those words, but thankfully, that wasn’t what she said. What she did say wasn’t much better.

“Why did you want me to stay with you?”

Greyson fumbled with the bottle, and it clattered to the floor. He stooped to scoop it up, and when he straightened, her piercing blue eyes locked onto his gaze. “I wanted to make sure you were taken care of,” he argued. “Is that so wrong?”

“I already quit my gallery job,” she said slowly. “I would’ve just stayed in the dorm.”

“Over-working, forgetting to eat, and not taking these,” he said, setting the bottle on the table.

“I am an adult, you know. I’ve managed just fine over the past few years,” she snapped, picking up the bottle and popping off the cap as he sauntered over to the table and rested his hip against it.

“Right, of course you have. You know I met your roommate—Carrie, is it? Yeah, at the hospital. We had a nice long talk about how you like to take care of yourself,” he growled, leaning down so he was eye-level with her. Belle’s cheeks reddened, and she gripped the pills tightly in her hand. “So, as discussed before, you’re not leaving my sight until that cast comes off.”

He sat down in his chair and dug into his breakfast angrily. Why couldn’t she just let it go and stop being so damn stubborn? Like you could do it? he told himself. You’d be a mess, too.

“At least by myself I wouldn’t be confused about us,” she whispered so quietly Greyson wasn’t sure he was meant to hear. But he did, and his fork stilled on his plate. “I’m going to go take a bath. Excuse me.” She stood slowly, bending low enough for her sweater to drape open and give him a glimpse of her cleavage so he would know she was not wearing a bra.

His groin tightened painfully, and his hand fisted on the table. A bath. Belle was going to be naked in his bathtub—again—and he was going to sit at the table like an idiot, watching her walk away.

Follow her, you idiot! She’s swaying her damn hips! She wants you, his mind roared, but his ass remained planted firmly in his chair.

The bathroom door closed a moment later, and he sagged in his chair, picking at what remained of his breakfast. If it was any other woman, he’d be in there, bathing her languidly, watching the water drip across her naked skin as he soaped up a loofah and insisted on getting in with her so he could reach every delectable bit.

But Belle was not like any other woman. None of them stayed the night or woke up beside him. None of them put him in his place like she did. None of them wanted so much more than he was even sure he was ready to give.

When he told her about the fight that broke his ribs, he couldn’t decide what made the words fall from his mouth so easily. He wanted to tell her more about his life, about what he wanted for the company, but his fear of the future held him back. Stomach too twisted in knots to finish eating, he pushed back from the table and cleared the dishes. She’d left her laptop open on the table, and he peered down the long hall first before leaning over and checking her work.

A few days ago, she had showed him the sketches she based this design on, creating a fully immersive 3D drawing of an ancient temple hidden in a jungle. Her detailing astounded him still, and he wanted to help her finish it but knew she’d hold it against him forever if he touched her work.

Avoiding temptation, he backed away and set about cleaning the kitchen and making himself another cup of coffee. His phone vibrated in his jeans, and he pulled it out when a door opened and Belle appeared in the hall, wearing a towel that barely reached her mid-thigh.

Hair pulled back in a clip and hand clutching the towel together over her nakedness, she stopped and stared at him. Her lips parted, and Greyson swallowed hard. One slip of her hand and he would finally glimpse all of her, the body he wanted to possess above all others. His feet moved, dragging him towards her. She straightened, pushing out her breasts as if in offering, and when her tongue darted out to lick her lips, his erection swelled painfully in his jeans. The hair rose on his arms, and he pictured himself closing the distance between them and carrying her off to his bed… until she raised her broken wrist to shove a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

His feet stopped abruptly, and he coughed, forcing his eyes away. “Everything alright?”

Her posture deflated and she smiled bitterly. “Yeah, everything’s just perfect. Forgot my razor,” she muttered and ducked into her bedroom.

Greyson’s head fell back on a heavy sigh as he wondered again why the hell he was holding back. There she was, ready for the taking, and he couldn’t do it. She was still injured to start with, but the nagging fear battered his desires.

He finally checked his cell and frowned at the message. Quickly grabbing his coffee and moving to his office at the other end of the house, he unlocked his screen with a swipe of his thumb and his lip curled in disgust at the words.

“Aiden.” He muttered her name darkly and kicked his office door shut.

She was another reason he’d been on edge for the last two weeks. Every day, she texted him or called, sometimes both. He never responded and deleted the voicemails without listening to them. He had Belle in his life, and his focus needed to be on understanding whatever went on between them, not worrying about someone who had only been a temporary lover. She was great in bed, but she was a shallow woman who manipulated those around her. It was her job, really. He and everyone else who knew her knew exactly what type of business Aiden was in. Secrets, from hot-shot CEOs to celebrities and politicians. That was all she ever wanted, and that was what she never managed to make Greyson spill, no matter how much she made him groan with pleasure.

Now, she wouldn’t even be able to do that. Belle had ruined him for her.

His finger hovered over the keypad on his cell, wondering if he should send anything back. Maybe ignoring her wasn’t sending the right message. He hunkered down over his desk and told her very simply to leave him alone. He wasn’t interested in anything she was offering, not anymore. He hit send and set his cell down, turning to his computer to log in remotely for the day and see what messes Tim had made so far. He was barely into his e-mails when his cell vibrated, and he cursed to see another message from Aiden.

His lips moved over the words: You’ll regret this, Greyson. One day you’ll regret turning me away.

“I think not,” he replied aloud, deleted her contact, and blocked her number from his cell. As he set his cell back down, he sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, releasing some of the tension built up in his body over the past two weeks.

Some but not all. He tried to focus on what he needed to do for the day, but his mind drifted back to Belle standing in the hallway wearing nothing but a damn towel. “Shit,” he muttered and rocked back in his office chair.

There was no way in hell he’d be able to keep this up much longer before he gave into his desires. She wasn’t ready for a fun-filled night of sex, not with her injuries, but maybe it was time he let her see that he did want her with him. A night of relaxation would help ease her annoyance at him, too. Grinning madly at his plan, Greyson set to work coming up with the perfect night for Belle. He grabbed his cell, dialed her friend Carrie, and looked out the window, taking in the view of his large, completely private backyard.

“Carrie, Greyson Taylor,” he said when she answered. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about Belle. You have a minute—or ten?”