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the ass.”
Nicola remained in the doorway and watched as he walked across the room and flicked on a small lamp by the fireplace. “I don’t have a ladder.”
“No need for one,” he said and pointed to the wooden chair by the window. “I’ll use that.”
Of course, he was nearly a foot taller than she was and would reach the ceiling easily enough. She just had to get the spare bulb from the laundry room. “Be back in a minute.”
Except that her minute turned into about ten. There were no new bulbs in the laundry room, and she had to venture to the workshop out back and rummage through a few boxes of Gino’s tools and equipment to find what she needed. She headed back inside, locking the back door and swiftly making her way through the kitchen and down the hallway. When she got to the living room, she stopped dead in her tracks.
Kieran was lying on the sofa, legs stretched out, one arm over his forehead, clearly comfortable, and obviously fast asleep.
She pulled up alongside the sofa and looked down at him. His hair was a little long, like he’d forgotten to get it cut. And the whisker growth was too sexy for words. His feet were crossed at the ankles, and his other hand lay across his chest. She looked at his left hand, to where his wedding band would have been, and she couldn’t help wondering how long it had been since he’d taken it off. The skin was paler. So, not long, by the look of things. He must still love his ex-wife, despite what she had done to him. Love often had a way of hanging around...she’d discovered that herself in the years it took her to erase Kieran’s memory from her heart.
Nicola went to tap his shoulder but then snatched her hand back. She remembered how he’d said he’d pulled a double shift at the hospital...and then he’d driven straight over to help her out with Marco. A double shift, combined with his recent move from Sioux Falls, meant he was obviously exhausted. Guilt pressed inside her chest and, instead of waking him up, she grabbed a soft chenille blanket from the love seat by the window and gently draped it over him. He didn’t stir, didn’t move, didn’t do anything other than take a deep breath and then sigh.
As she left the room and headed upstairs, Nicola mused that, if someone had told her earlier that day that Kieran O’Sullivan would be sleeping in her house, she would have told them they were out of their mind and to go straight to hell. And she didn’t want to think about how she was trying to cling onto anger and resentment because hating him made things easier. Hating him made her forget how much she had once loved him.
And hating him made her immune to falling in love with him ever again.
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