Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

His Carer

"What?!"

"Would you like to sleep with me?"

Anya studied his face in shock. He looked utterly calm, meeting her gaze directly. She complimented herself for definitely not misinterpreting this question.

"Why?!" she exhaled, just as before, in the hospital.

She simply couldn't understand the motivation behind these generous offers of his: to take his expensive car, to stay in the manor with him... And now, this! Five seconds ago it had been all she could dream of - and never thought she'd get. Just being in his room, sitting closely, being allowed in his private moments - it had already been more than she could have wished for.

"Neither of us seems to be able to sleep in these giant beds," he answered.

That made perfect sense. It wasn't an answer anyone in her place would hope for - but it made sense.

"Will I not– What if I– hurt you?" Anya exclaimed.

He gave out another of these little joyless laughs of his - warm and melodious, but throaty enough to sound rough.

"Well, älskling, unless you're planning to climb on top of me and jump up and down, I should be quite alright," he murmured.

"I would never!" Anya cried out, and he snorted a louder laugh.

"Exactly," he said. "C'mon, let's give it a go. I might not provide much cushioning; but if it's just a matter of a habit for you, having someone, even if it's just me, in your bed might be enough to help you to sleep."

"Will it help you?" she asked.

Say 'yes.' Please. Just give me an excuse to agree, she begged in her mind.

"Yeah, yeah, it will," he muttered and tapped his finger on the edge of the tray. "Could you, please, take it off? I don't think I can."

Anya readily obliged; and when she returned to the bed, he'd already gotten onto it. He was stuck in an awkward position, his body half-turned, supported on his straight left arm. Anya quickly walked around the bed.

She firmly picked his arm under his elbow. "Let me help you."

"Bloody hell, I hate this," he gritted through his teeth.

Anya jerked her hands away from him.

"I'm sorry, I should've asked," she said in a small voice.

"And this, too," he rasped, clumsily rolling onto his back. "That you ask. And that it's all so–" He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. "So fucking arsed up..."

Anya took a small step away from the bed. "I can just go," she said in a forced light tone. "Honestly, that's absolutely alright! I had tea, and it's been a long day so I'm sure I'll fall asleep now. And maybe you'll sleep better if I'm not– if you're alone. And I apologise again for grabbing you– I should've asked! You're right, it was rude."

He listened to her panicked squawking, and then said levelly, "Anna, I hate it that I used to play tennis, polo, competed in three types of equestrian sport events, did mountain-climbing and cycling, and was pretty decent at sabre fencing. And now I can't lie down on a bed without assistance." He huffed an irritated exhale. "And I hate it that you ask whether you can touch me, because it means that I've been nasty enough to you to make you worry about offending me. You are allowed to touch me at any time. No need to ever ask."

Anya edged back to the bed and helped him to take a more comfortable position.

"You've never been particularly nasty towards me," she said quietly. The bed was so long that she just climbed on it and crawled along the footboard to 'her' half, without having to overtake him like a hurdle despite his impressive height. "The first day, yes, but you were just trying to scare me off," she added.