SCANDAL ✓

Chapter 013 | Sandwiches

Paris awoke the next morning almost as healthy as a horse. His fever had broken just a fraction and he could feel the life returning to his limbs. He still felt sore, and his throat ached, but he felt a lot better than he did the day before. It was incredible.

As he lay there grinning, the events of last night rushed over him, and he stilled.

Wood.

He sprang up off his bed and looked over at his mahogany couch. No Wood. His white-dotted duvet was also missing. Looking around him, he realized that the bowls and napkin had disappeared from where they'd been left last night too. He frowned. She'd said she'd stay with him. Had she changed her mind and returned home?

Ignoring the dull ache that seared through him, he changed into a mauve shirt and headed out of his room.

There were loud noises emanating from the kitchen. Brows furrowing, he checked his wrist-watch. Half-past seven. Wasn't it too early for Martha to be here? Paris followed the slowly increasing sound and stumbled upon Shanya, moving around the kitchen in a frenzy, dressed in his dark shirt which drooped over her shoulders and traveled down a little ways above her knees.

He froze. His eyes raked up and down her figure, and then at the messy scene before him, utterly transfixed. No...no. Something deep within him burst and filled him with warmth, satisfaction, fulfillment, joy and what he dared not mention. A terrain of emotions played at his insides until he thought he would weep. Literally, weep. What was it about women wearing a guy's shirt that was so intimate? What was it about this particular woman now making a mess of his kitchen that turned his insides to mush?

As he stared on, still dumbfounded, his eyes glazed over in the sweetest agony and his heart quickened as he watched her struggle to turn over a ruined sandwich. All thoughts of propriety vanished out the window as he became inextricably aware of the undeniable fact that he was attracted to this woman. Wholly and utterly attracted to her. This sweet-smelling-one-dimpled -gold-digging-fiery-chocolate-goddess wearing his shirt.

And he knew, without a doubt, that that shirt would be his favorite shirt, always.

"You're staring, Grey-eyes."

He nearly jumped. His face heated and he turned crimson as he realized he'd been caught practically gawking at her. He almost apologized but stopped himself short. He would not be a simpering fool. He assessed her features instead, lips parting in a small grin. She seemed well rested but also a little faint—she'd probably been up since dawn. But by her tone and awkward—almost painful stance, he had a feeling her mood was rather snappy.

Her eyes traveled down to her outfit, and she pursed her lips.

"I'm so sorry, my clothes were um... soiled when I woke up this morning and I needed to change. Yours was the only available option."

He walked closer to her, not missing the fact that by soiled she'd meant she was having her monthly bleeding. That would explain the faint look. And the mood.

"You're welcome to wear my shirt any time." His eyes snaked up and down her frame in abject approval. "It looks better on you anyway."

Her mouth opened slightly to say something but she seemed to think better of it and closed it, gnawing at her lower lip instead. Over the past eight weeks since he'd gotten to know her, he noticed she only bit her lip when she was nervous. He searched her eyes for any hint of embarrassment or revulsion at her current plight but he saw neither, only cautiousness. A small part of him slumped in relief.

"Do you need anything?" he whispered softly, his hand itching to touch her cheek. When she raised her eyebrow in question, he elaborated. "For the pain."