Page 17 of Securing His Obsession

“Sorry I took so long, but the shower felt so good.” Margot picked up her bowl, noting that somehow he’d found the bowl cozies her friend had made, which protected her fingers from the hot dish.

They ate in silence, and it wasn’t as awkward as she thought it might be. Normally she had the television on to keep her company while she ate. It would be rude to put it on, and honestly, she was okay with the quiet. Too much noise might wake up her now dormant migraine.

The soup was delicious, as Damon had predicted, and it warmed her from the inside, while filling her up at the same time.

Once she finished, she placed the bowl back on the table and turned to Damon. “Thank you for today, you didn’t have to do this.”

Part of her wanted to reach out and lay her hand on his leg. To have that personal contact, but she was also afraid that he would brush her hand away. Or get up and take the dishes to the kitchen, so she kept her hands firmly in her lap, as if she was a prim schoolgirl waiting to be scolded by the principal.

“It’s no big deal.”

“It is. You stayed when you didn’t have to. Not everyone would do that.” Another thought struck her. He hadn’t stayed because of guilt for how he’d treated her the previous evening, had he? Because if he had, that would be awful.

“Maybe.”

He was back to being his stoic self, and Margot sighed. Any hope that he was there because of having any sort of feelings for her disappeared in a puff of smoke.

She stood abruptly to collect up their empty dishes, but a wave of dizziness swept over her, and she would’ve fallen had Damon not moved swiftly and grabbed her around the waist.

“Whoa! Fuck, Margot, sit.”

The softness of the couch cushioned her butt as her head was pushed between her legs.

“Breathe, in and out,” Damon commanded, and she found herself doing so without argument.

Her head wasn’t beginning to hurt again. Her stomach wasn’t roiling as though she was about to lose the contents of it. So, the dizziness was confusing, especially as she’d just eaten.

“I’m okay,” she said after a few moments, and sat up, aware that Damon had been rubbing his hand up and down her back soothingly while she’d been taking her deep breaths.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should take you to a 24-hour emergency clinic to get you checked out.”

The worry was unmistakable in his voice, and Margot didn’t know what to make of this side of Damon. The side he was showing her more and more.

“What’s going on Damon? Why are you here?”

Chapter

Eight

If Damon knew the answer to Margot’s questions, life would be so much easier. The problem was—he didn’t. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“That’s not helpful.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up at her response. There was a sassiness to Margot that he hadn’t seen or heard before, and he liked it. He preferred it to the uncertain and afraid woman she’d been at the jewelry launch. That night, she’d panicked, and he couldn’t correlate the two. What was it about that night that had her scared, but right now, she was throwing barbs at him?

Actually, the answer was easy and obvious. She was in her home, surrounded by everything familiar giving her a sense of safety.

He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. He’d spent the day constantly checking on her. He’d sat in on the meeting with Bayden via a video link. Their friend appeared to have recovered from being shot while they’d been in Asia, but Damon had seen the shadows in his eyes, because he caught them in Margot’s when she thought no one was looking.

He really hadn’t been paying attention to what was being said, his attention had been on the woman sleeping in the other room. Worrying if she was going to throw up again. Worrying about what would’ve happened to her if she’d been alone. Worrying that because he’d gotten her out of bed, it had been his fault that she got sick.

Once the meeting had finished, he’d rushed into her room and stood watching her sleep—like the creeper he was becoming around her.

There’d been no question of him going home that night. If she hadn’t woken up, he would’ve slept on her couch. It would’ve been uncomfortable, but the thought of leaving her alone while she had been in pain had been abhorrent to him.

The rustle of fabric clued him in that Margot was moving, and he cracked his eyes opened to see her picking up the plates, what she’d been about to do before she’d swayed on her feet. This time she looked stronger. He should get up and help her.

No, what he should do was leave so that she could get some more rest. It was clear her migraine had gone and she was back to normal. The clatter of a dish falling to the ground and breaking had him moving, worrying that he’d find Margot crumpled on the floor.