prayer, he let go of her hand and followed her back to the accident, the police and ambulance just arriving.
Luckily, Grace was spared the trouble of giving a statement since she couldn’t remember any of the accident. Quentin gave his more than once, tweaking details here and there so as to not give away too much of the truth. It took a lot of arguing to convince the medics not to take Grace to the hospital in the ambulance. Instead, Quentin called Christophe’s personal physician, who showed up quickly. He guaranteed he’d treat her and promised there was no dire need for her to go with them. After his assessment, the doctor said Grace had a slight concussion and minor whiplash, and gave instructions to Quentin on signs to watch out for and how he was to care for her through the night.
Unfortunately, the other three did need to go to the hospital. Both Leah and Tommy suffered concussions as well, Leah’s worse than Grace’s or Tommy’s. Emily’s arm was broken. Grace was awash with guilt, but Quentin tried reassuring her they’d be okay.
By the time the accident was cleared and they were given permission to leave, Grace was weaving with exhaustion. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms. She protested feebly all the way to the car. As soon as they were back on the road, she fell asleep. Quentin glanced at her every few minutes, knowing it could have been a whole lot worse. His heart gave a painful squeeze at the thought.
Once they were home he didn’t bother trying to wake her just yet; she needed the sleep. Carefully, he pulled her from the Jag, kicking the door softly shut with his foot. He thought for sure once they were inside and Laney saw how late it was, she’d come running. But she didn’t. Once again, the house was empty. With Grace still in his arms, he walked up the stairs toward her room, and wondered where Laney had been going so often and so late at night.
Somehow he managed to pull the blankets back from Grace’s bed and lay her down without waking her. Her feet dangled off the edge of the bed and he tugged gently, amazing himself that he was able to get her shoes off without so much as a disturbance in her breathing.
Satisfied, Quentin stared down at his charge sleeping soundlessly and realized he was still in a quandary, wondering how in the world was he going to get Grace out of those dirty jeans without making himself uncomfortable now … and Grace much more so later. Where the hell was Laney, his mind shrieked. He cursed her mother silently and ground his teeth, realizing he needed to get creative, and fast.
In a flash of genius, he covered her with her bed sheet. He then knelt at her feet and reached underneath it in search of the button and fly of her jeans. The heat that radiated off those long, shapely legs unnerved him so he gave up, peeked under the sheet, and quickly undid her jeans.
Inch by inch, he pulled them down slowly so he didn’t wake her, which only made him think things he shouldn’t. Baseball. Concentrating on baseball only made him think about how he was already at second base with her. Stop it! Desperate for distraction, he sang inside his head, counted backward, and ran over the list of the most violent movies he’d seen. When her pants were finally free and hanging from his hands, he heaved a sigh of relief and dropped them as if they were on fire.
He truly was a jerk.
Gently, he put his hands under her ankles, and moved them only enough so her feet no longer hung over the edge. He walked to the corner of her room where the lounge chair was and moved it next to her bed.
It was still an hour and a half until he had to wake her to check her vitals, but he wouldn’t leave. Without a sound, Quentin sat watching as she slept peacefully in her bed. He wasn’t Fallen, so he knew better than to fall for her, but he was. His heart wouldn’t listen. And he didn’t know what to do about it, or how to stop it … without his heart ceasing to beat.
He needed to find a way before it clouded his judgment. Or worse, before he made a mistake that might just get her killed.