Page 31 of Holding On To Good

Only to have them drift shut again.

Well, she’d just rest for a minute. Gather her strength. With a sigh, she tucked her feet underneath her and absently rubbed the pad of her right thumb back and forth across her right fingertips.

They were warm and pulsed, as if the heat from Urban’s skin had set them to flame, and she curled her fingers into her palm as if capturing the feeling of him.

And held on tight.

As he stepped back inside the house, Urban’s scalp tingled where Willow’s fingers had been and he ran his palm over it, hard and brisk, wanting nothing more than to rub the sensation away. To erase the moment from his memory.

The irritation, the restlessness from this morning was back, riding him like a deranged, howling monkey he couldn’t shake off. Except this time, he knew exactly what was causing it. Make that who was causing it.

He stomped through the foyer to the front room, picking up the bag with the burgers where he’d left it in the doorway. Spying Willow’s phone on the window ledge, he tossed it into her bag, along with her earbuds, then grabbed her shoes and the container of cake. Walked back outside, shut and locked the door, then headed down the walkway.

He opened the driver’s side door. Willow was asleep, eyes shut, mouth open. Her head at an odd angle against the window, her short, pale hair like a beacon in the twilight.

Jesus, but she’d done a number on herself.

After putting the burgers, her cake and shoes on the floor in the back, he set her bag on his seat then, knowing her as well as he did, strode over to her SUV to find her keyless fob in the console, right where he thought it’d be. He put it in the glove box, locked the doors, and returned to his truck.

She didn’t so much as twitch an eyelid when he climbed in and shut his door, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking at her. Just for a minute. If only because he rarely got the opportunity to do so openly and without worrying that something in how he looked at her, or a twitch of his expression, would give his thoughts away.

She’d curled her hair. The short strands, bending this way and that, were all tousled and sexy. Her makeup was different, too. The charcoal lining her eyes had made them seem a darker green, the blush on her cheeks giving her a soft glow.

Though now that he thought about it, the glow was more than likely due to the champagne buzz.

But it was seeing her in that dress that’d almost cut him off at the knees when he’d walked into Lindstrom house and seen her standing none too steady, her feet, legs and shoulders bare. And when she’d turned, he’d felt like he’d taken one of Miles’s elbows to the gut, and a low, guttural sound of want emerged from his throat, his thoughts sluggish, his reflexes so slow he’d almost ended up concussed.

But even though he hadn’t been whacked upside the head with a champagne bottle, it’d still felt like he had.

Her dress was short and tight and strapless. Which he hadn’t realized until that moment were three of his very favorite things.

The hem ended at mid-thigh, exposing what seemed like yards and yards of her slim, pale legs. The bright floral material hugged her slender hips and cinched her waist. The top cupped her small breasts, showing off her toned shoulders and the long line of her neck.

He’d wanted to take a huge, greedy bite of her.

Thank God she hadn’t been wearing those strappy black stilettos he’d tossed in the back or he would’ve been a dead man.

As it was, he’d stood there, reeling and silent and still, afraid if he spoke, he’d say something revealing like how beautiful she looked. Terrified if he moved, he’d do something idiotic like reach for her.

Tearing his gaze off her now, he leaned his head back and shut his eyes. First Verity and now Willow. What was it with him having to deal with drunk or hungover females?

Payback for earlier sins, no doubt.

No matter how many good deeds a man did, his mistakes were never forgotten.

He ran a hand through his hair, but that had him remembering, again, how Willow had touched him, her nails lightly scraping his scalp, her fingertips trailing across his cheek.

They didn’t touch. Not like that. Not ever. It was a silent rule, one of many between them that kept their friendship running smoothly.

One blown completely out of the water tonight.

He’d had to touch her. Had to put his arm around her waist so she didn’t topple over. Had to carry her to his truck so she didn’t get hurt.

Just as he’d had to hug her when she started crying. What else could he do?

Nothing tore him apart like the sight of Willow’s tears.

He’d started the touching portion of the evening, but she was the one who’d caressed him, her fingers combing through his hair like a lover, her hand sliding along his cheek as if she meant to kiss him.

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