Deciding to take a chance, Stephanie went to him and slid her hands over his chest and linked them behind his neck. “You’re interested in me?” she asked with her best teasing smile.

His lips formed the closest thing to a smile she’d seen since the accident. “You know I am. I love you.”

As his arms came around her, she wanted to sing hallelujah. “I love you, too. And I hate to see you hurting. I wish you’d talk to me, Grant. Tell me what happened out there. Let me help.”

His smile faded, and the remote expression returned. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

“The offer is on the table. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, you know where I am.”

He hugged her tightly as a deep sigh shuddered through him. “That helps, babe. Thank you.”

“Hold on to me.”

“I don’t want anyone but you, Steph. No matter what else may be going on, don’t worry about that, okay?”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes tight against the rush of emotion. It felt so good to be held by him, to be close to him, to breathe in the scent that was his and his alone. “Let’s go to bed.”

They got ready in silence, Stephanie watching him out of the corner of her eye as she brushed her teeth. At least her heart had stopped racing and her stomachache had let up at his words of love and reassurance. She’d take the partial victory.

Since the accident, they’d abandoned their usual sleep-naked-and-make-love-as-often-as-humanly-possible philosophy, but when she saw him get into bed unclothed, her heart skipped a happy, hopeful beat. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and dropped it into the hamper.

She slid in next to him, shivering from the chill of the sheets.

Grant reached for her and she snuggled into his embrace, sighing with pleasure as his warmth chased away the chill that had taken up residence in her bones during the long day he’d been missing—and stayed there during the long week since.

“Feels good,” she said.

“Mmm.”

“Do you want to, you know…” She didn’t know how to phrase it, because she’d never had to ask before.

“Tired.”

“Oh, okay.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She kissed his chest. “Everything is fine.” As she spoke, she ran her hand over his chest and belly, hoping to soothe him. “Grant?”

A big snore answered for him.

While Stephanie was relieved that he would finally get some rest, she was left feeling unsettled and lonely for him.

Abby wanted to die. Not because her head pounded from the tequila or because her mouth was drier than the Sahara Desert. No, she wanted to die because she remembered, in excruciating detail, telling Adam McCarthy about her orgasm issues.