Page 37 of Touch

Holly jerks in surprise, drops the book into her lap, and seizes the apparatus. With her pants undone, she gasps into the receiver, “Griffin?”

“Babe!” the brute exclaims, his tone exuberant. “You ready? I’m on my way.”

Holly checks the time on her phone. “You’re early.”

“That’s because I miss you. It’s called an obsession.”

A tender grin slides across her mouth before she smothers it. “We made plans for late afternoon.”

Silence. “You sound annoyed.”

“I just wasn’t expecting to leave yet. You could have texted before heading out. Would it kill you to stop making assumptions?”

His sigh stretches across the room. “You’re still pissed about Andrew.”

“Still?” she repeats. “It wasn’t that long ago. Yes, I’m mad. You were a drunk asshole who overreacted.”

“And he was the sober asshole who responded. Also, I defend my woman. That hermit keeps getting in your way.”

“Stop it, Griffin. You’re smarter than that. Those were accidents.” She lowers her voice, which fills with sudden compassion. “And you know this has nothing to do with me.”

A frown contorts Love’s face. What does that mean?

Griffin falls quiet once more, Holly’s words presumably striking true. When he replies, his voice grows terse. “I wasn’t the only one fighting. That fucker made the first move and then pulled some tornado ninja shit on us.”

Love smirks. Tornado ninja shit.

“Oh, I hadn’t realized two wrongs make a right,” Holly grunts. “Forget it. I don’t want to go over this again. Anyway, I thought you were still on site.”

“Done and done. We finished installing the studs today.”

From what Love has learned, the man runs a construction contracting business. Yet there’s a note of fatigued resignation in his voice when he speaks of it.

“I’m bringing those marshmallows you like,” Griffin croons. “Those vanilla ones, from that place you always talk about. Not the generic grocery brand. I know you hate those.”

“The only thing I hate is that you treat people like enemies when they’re not,” Holly disputes to the ceiling. “To say nothing of how you treat yourself.”

Griffin swallows. It’s an easy sound for a human to miss, but not his lover, nor the eavesdropping goddess idling several feet away. “Say the word. I’ll turn around if you want me to.”

Yes! Tell him to fuck off!

Holly’s expression falters. Despite the exchange, she doesn’t want him to turn around. Feigning dismay, Holly jokes, “And sacrifice a bag of marshmallows?”

No! The woman is supposed to discover the torn book pages, go to Georgie’s shop, get her money refunded for the novel, and accidentally run into Andrew.

To Love’s shock, a gentle chuckle rumbles from the phone. Truly, she hadn’t thought the man capable of making such a noise. Moreover, she has difficulty envisioning the male’s big hands carrying a parcel of sweets.

After disconnecting, Holly flops onto the bed while Love paces. If Holly has alternate plans with that asinine brute, this day won’t progress as it should.

A feminine gasp floods the bedroom. Love swings toward Holly, who has reached the ripped section of the book, her expression scrunching like a wad of tissue. She flips back and forth through the text as if the missing passages will magically reappear.

Love’s satisfaction is short-lived as a set of wheels grind into the snow outside, and a motor churns from the driveway. Holly deposits the book on the bed, then gathers a herringbone coat and a purse from her closet.

Shit. Snatching her bow and quiver off the floor, Love darts after the female, who exits the townhouse.

Griffin drives a restless sports car, the interior reeking of machismo and buffoonery. Yet he beams at Holly as if her beauty is the sole reason gravity exists, because someone that lovely shouldn’t be allowed to float away.

Circling the vehicle, Love glares at theI’ll huff and puff and run your ass downbumper sticker. Mortal males and their crude tastes.

---