Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,163

down at herself for a moment, as if hesitating. Then she said, “I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth to ask, well what the bloody hell have you got on under there, to be fine in this heat?

Which is when it occurred to him, like a punch to the face, that she might actually be naked.

Time for a change of subject.

She seemed to agree, because she said suddenly, “I thought you were one of the kids, to be honest. When I heard you moving around, I mean.”

“The kids sleep like it’s their job. They’ll go twelve hours straight if you let them. Have since they were born.”

She cocked her head. “That’s impressive.”

“Ellie had grand ideas about the effects of routine.”

“She sounds like a sensible woman. What are your thoughts on routine?”

“Excellent for children,” he hedged.

Of course, Hannah’s all-seeing eyes wouldn’t let him get away with that. “And for you…?”

Nate winced. “Not so much.”

“You haven’t been sleeping for a while, have you?”

Busted. His lips twisted into a rueful smile as he sank deeper into the cushions. He ran a hand through his hair and asked, “Do I look that bad?”

And she looked. She really, really looked. At him.

Sometimes it felt like Hannah saw straight through him. Her gaze would skate over Nate like he was a smudge or a typo, like she was allergic to actually seeing him, and the sensation was… strange. But it was even stranger now, to have her studying him in that way of hers—like he was something under a microscope, something she could conquer if only she could understand it. Something she would conquer, if she wanted to.

Her gaze focused on his face first, and really, she could’ve stopped there. He looked like shit, and he knew it. But apparently, the signs of exhaustion in his features weren’t enough. She moved on to the rest of him, and Nate remembered abruptly that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or, you know, trousers.

Would it be really fucking obvious if he crossed his legs right now? Would it make her more or less uncomfortable if he held a pillow over his underwear like a modest maiden? He wasn’t sure. But his mental gymnastics were interrupted by the realisation that Hannah appeared to have gotten… stuck. She was in no danger of ever seeing his barely-clothed groin because her gaze had snagged on something around his chest area.

Nate looked down at himself, trying to figure out what had made Hannah so very expressionless. Her face was so impassive, even for her, that he suspected she was actually screaming inside her own head. But when he examined himself, all he saw was his own supremely average chest. Oh, and…

“It’s my wedding ring,” he said, running a finger over the cord around his neck—the one that held a plain gold band, hanging just above his heart.

She blinked a few times as if she were mentally rebooting. “What? Oh. Right. Yes. The, er…”

She was being weird. The fact nudged at Nate, but it wasn’t forceful enough to break through the mental fog of his exhaustion. His sluggish mind didn’t have enough energy to analyse things further, so he didn’t bother trying.

“That’s sweet,” she said finally. “That you wear it, I mean. Are you…” She paused. “I mean, do you miss her a lot?”

“Are you asking if I stay up every night thinking about her, and that’s why I’m always tired?” he asked dryly.

She let out a little puff of air that might be a laugh. Like she was amused, but didn’t know if she should be or not. So he forced his weary face into a smile, just to let her know it was okay.

“I’ve always suffered from insomnia,” he said. “Gets worse when I’m stressed. I don’t… I mean, I miss Ellie. I wish she was here. But I’m okay. I’m not still grieving, or anything.”

Hannah nodded, but she had that look on her face—the one that seemed to encourage more. The one that said, I’m here and I’m listening, if you’re into that, but we could also go our separate ways and pretend this never happened. Whatever you want.

So he added, “She died four years ago. Car accident. It was… well, it was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but, you know. I had the kids. Josh was so little. I had to be okay. And I think I’m lucky, because for me, faking it helped make it real.”

“I see,” she murmured. “That is lucky. And kind of badass.”

The smile he’d