After walking the perimeter, Davis and Mitzi waited for Grayce in his car parked in front of Dr. Z’s little Ravenna house. The back garden was enclosed, making entry difficult.
Grace hadn’t objected when he said he’d wait for her in the car. She had left him with Mitzi.
For the three days since her car accident, he had guarded her 24/7. He never expected to feel such responsibility for any woman. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt Grayce.
His only break was after her he walked her to the office where Nick took over. He continued to search for Gator without alerting Calfell. Davis was frustrated that he had made no progress mainly because Calfell was blocking all of his inquires. Something or someone was going to have to break soon.
How had his life gotten so out of control? He, of all men, who managed his life sensibly and efficiently, had been taken down by one tiny blond woman with fiery green eyes.
Since the accident, he and Grayce had remained in a holding pattern, maintaining a wary distance. It seemed that they were both afraid to discuss their feelings. Maybe it meant Grayce still cared and didn’t want to risk ruining their future. That thought gave him hope.
As usual, he kept the radio tuned to KJR, the sport’s channel, but he couldn’t listen to another analysis of U-dub’s upcoming football season. He switched the radio off.
Grayce thought he was still mad at her. He wasn’t mad. He was afraid, afraid she’d never get past her fear of commitment. Still wounded by the loss of her sister, Grayce couldn’t allow herself to trust the future. He felt that their love for each other should overcome the past. In Grayce’s complicated mind, their love heightened the fear.
He didn’t understand emotions like Grayce did, but what he did know was that he was afraid that she might never need him the way he needed her.
He had to make a stand. He couldn’t allow her to wield so much power, but he worried that if he pushed her, she’d let him go… back to DC alone. So, he remained silent in a purgatory of his own making.
For three days, he had been unable to kiss her or even touch her. He was torturously aware of her every word, her every gesture, constantly hungering for every brief contact with her. It had gotten so bad that he watched her sleep. She didn’t sleep well without him. She tossed and turned with a worried face. She was having nightmares, but she never admitted a word to him about her restless nights.
He tried hard to hide what she did to him in her little skimpy yoga clothes. He hadn’t understood the power of obsession, had never felt its fierce pull until now. He couldn’t reason himself out of this passion. He wasn’t in purgatory. He was in hell.