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Kade’s grin grew broader as he dumped the packages on the bed and asked jokingly, “Did you miss me?”
Yes!
To evade answering his question directly, she said as casually as she could manage, “It was peaceful. No one to boss me around.”
No one to fuss over me. No one to talk to or argue with.
It had been too quiet. She was getting used to the sound of his voice. Even when he sang off-key in the shower with more enthusiasm than talent, he made her smile.
“I don’t boss you around. I just keep you from doing anything detrimental to your health,” Kade answered indignantly as he plopped on the edge of the bed.
Asha noticed him absently rubbing his right leg. “It hurts?”
Kade frowned, yanking his hand away as he answered, “It’s fine. Just habit.”
“It’s more than that. I can tell. You’re in pain. Don’t you have pain medicine for when it’s bad?”
“I don’t use it,” Kade snapped.
Asha drew back at the fierceness in his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I was just concerned.”
Kade sighed, looking instantly contrite. “I used it a lot when I first got hurt. Too much. I started to like the fact that it not only took away the physical pain, but blurred me mentally, too. I could see it was becoming a crutch, an escape from the reality that I’d never play football again. I was running away from reality and I knew I had to stop before it was too late.”
The naked look of regret on his face made her heart bleed for him. “Football was that important to you?” She didn’t need to hear his answer. Football was obviously as important to him as her art was to her, and she didn’t know what she’d do if she couldn’t draw and paint.
“It was everything to me,” he answered sincerely. “It was the only thing I was really good at.”
Asha gaped at him. “That isn’t true. I’m sure there are plenty of things you’re good at doing.”
Kade let out a beleaguered sigh. “Okay. It’s the only thing I was good at when I was vertical.” He gave her a wicked grin.
She blushed, her face heating as his eyes met and held her own. She wasn’t touching that comment. Something told her that he’d be much better with sexual banter than she could manage. If there was one thing she noticed about Kade, it was that he tended to avoid talking about himself, using self-deprecating humor when he wanted to avoid a particular subject. “So you stopped running away from reality?” she asked, changing the subject as quickly as possible. She definitely didn’t want to talk about sex with him.
“Pretty much,” he answered honestly. “I can’t say I don’t miss football, but I’ve faced the fact that I can’t play anymore, and I don’t take pain meds.” He paused for a moment, still staring at her intensely. “Maybe someday you’ll tell me why you’re running.”
Unable to look at him anymore, she broke eye contact as she hedged, “Who says I’m running from anything?”
“You are,” he answered sanguinely, picking up the packages on the bed and plopping them beside her. “I picked you up some stuff.”
“Why?” Asha asked him, confused.
Kade shrugged. “Because it’s stuff you need and don’t appear to have.”
When she just continued to look at him dumbfounded, Kade started digging in the bags, dragging out items one by one. “You need a phone.” He handed her the latest model iPhone. “And a laptop.” He removed the computer from the box and set it on her lap. “You can’t run a business without the basics.” Tossing another bag to her, he said mischievously, “And a few other necessities. Not exactly seductive bedroom attire, but it’s an appropriate nightgown since you’re sick. And the jeans and shirts look like you.”
Asha looked up at Kade, so shocked that she could barely speak. “I can’t pay for these right now.”
“They’re a gift. I don’t expect you to pay for them,” he growled, affronted.
Pulling the nightgown from a bag—which also included new toiletries, jeans and shirts, new drawing pens and a drawing pad—she stroked the silky material. It was pretty and feminine, a beautiful pink that would cover her entire body modestly. Everything female inside her wanted to don the nightgown, feel the silk of the material caress her body and make her feel feminine. But she finally told Kade, “I can’t take these things. They must have cost a fortune.”
“I said it was a damn gift,” he said almost angrily. “And it didn’t cost a fortune. It’s just a few things you need.”
“I’ve never really had a gift,” she murmured softly, continuing to stroke over the soft material of the nightgown, unable to look at Kade because her eyes were filling with tears. “And I don’t even know you. I can’t accept this.”
“You will accept because you need them. And how is it possible that you never received a gift? Never?” Kade asked in a confused voice.
Asha shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “I just never have.”