Page 31 of Counting On You

In spite of her firm grip, her hand feels soft inside mine. I marvel at the way it fits like it was made to feel perfect against my skin. She looks into my eyes, and for a moment I think I can see a sparkle that wasn’t there before. Her lips part, and her gaze lowers to my mouth the way it does when women have their own naughty thoughts about me and think they’re being discreet about it.

I would have held on much longer if she didn’t let go.

As she settles back against the sofa, her eyes grow distant. It must be something I said or did. I comb my memory to find the thing that’s turned her distant again.

And then it hits me.

It’s not me. It’s about someone else.

I watch her start playing with the keychain again. “He must be pretty special if you don’t want to upset him.”

Vicky looks up, her irises widening, surprise written on her face. “How did you guess?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Judging from the fact that this is not exactly a vacation, it was either that you’re recovering from a bad relationship or that you’re here to get rid of him. Call it a wild guess, but I don’t think it’s the latter.”

“He has nothing to do with it.” She wets her lips, and for the first time I see nervousness and something else—vulnerability—flicker across her face.

I wouldn’t usually pursue the issue, but with her it’s different. It’s partly entertaining, partly interesting, and partly, to my surprise, I find that I care somehow.

“You’re not here because of him?” I ask.

“I’m here because I violated my restraining order that ordered me to keep away from him.”

I lean back. It’s my turn to be stunned. I never expected her to be so frank.

“I take it you’re a professional stalker?”

She lets out a fake laugh. “I’m anything but that.” Her laugh grows silent, the words soft. “It’s all a big misunderstanding. That’s all it is.”

My body tenses at the way she says the words. As if she’s grown tired of having to repeat them over and over again. Vulnerability stains her voice, her stance, even the air surrounding her.

It makes me want to touch her, to hold her hand in mine and make her laugh again, which is absurd. I’m not someone who likes to comfort. Heck, I usually don’t give a damn.

Her hands brush over her skirt, and then she gets up. “I should get going.”

I rise with her. “Want me to help you find your way around?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, but thanks.” She offers me a weak smile.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Your room is—”

“—the first door down the hall. I know,” Vicky says, interrupting me.

“That’s correct. I took the bigger room, seeing that I arrived first. First-come, first-served, dibs, and all that.” I offer her a smile, but she doesn’t return it.

“I don’t mind. I prefer the smaller one anyway.” Her gaze travels to the front of my robe.

With a soft groan, she lifts up the box. I take it out of her hands. “Come on. Let me help you.”

I follow her down the hall and we reach her room. I open the door for her and step aside to let her past. She steps inside, barely giving me a second glance as she hauls her luggage into a corner. As she turns around, I pass her the box. Our hands touch again and her last words echo in my mind.

“To hell with them, Vicky,” I whisper. “I believe you. If you say that it’s all a misunderstanding, then that’s all it is.”

I don’t know what just made me say that, but it feels true.

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