Page 24 of The Healing Touch

He moved away, and she caught sight of his pained expression out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Learn some control. You’re a grown man, not a three-year-old throwing a fit in Target because your mom wouldn’t let you have the toy you wanted. I’m not a toy.”

“That’s about what I feel like right now.” He let out a low chuckle. “I want what I can’t have.”

She turned to face him, her own ire slowly rising. “Deal with it, D. We have a lot of damn work to do because of the idiots who packed this mess. I don’t have time for your nonsense.” She picked up the paper swag and a silver Sharpie and thrust them at him. “Here. Start signing these.”

“All of them?” He looked from the boxes to her, appalled.

“Yes, all of them.” She took her handy box opener she’d brought along and started to open another box. “I have to sort all these books before I can even start trying to get the pre-orders together.”

“Was there any place open this late that delivered?” He took out the first stack of postcards and started signing. Shit, this was going to take all damn night. He needed to do something less mundane to get his mind off the woman whose ass was prominently on display. She’d put on another one of those long t-shirt things, and every time she bent, he caught a glimpse of baby blue lace.

“I convinced the guy at Pat’s Pizza to take the order. Had to order four to get him to do it, though. They don’t deliver small orders at this time of night.”

“That’s fine. What we don’t eat, we’ll put in the fridge for later.” He’d probably scarf two by himself. Blue lace flashed in his field of vision, and he groaned. “Becca?”

“What?” She was pulling books out of the box she was currently working on.

“Put on some damn pants.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes suddenly twinkling. “Only if you put on a damn shirt.”

Well, now. Maybe he did affect her as much as she did him. He laughed and shook his head, getting up to grab a shirt out of his suitcase. He pulled on a plain white t-shirt and saw Rebecca jumping into some kind of knee-length pajama bottoms. At least they covered her damn ass.

“Better?” she asked once he’d settled himself back on the bed.

He nodded and picked up the Sharpie. “Where did we get a silver Sharpie? Do you just carry them around in your purse or something?”

“Nope.” She sat on the floor this time, facing him. Thank God. If he had to be subjected to her ass one more time, he’d have done something stupid. “I ordered a bunch of Sharpies and had them shipped here. You don’t think I’d send you into the gladiator’s arena without the proper weapons, do you?”

“It can’t be that bad.”

She snorted. “Oh, but it can. You didn’t do your research like I told you to. These things are huge affairs, readers fighting to get to their favorite authors by the droves. Lines out the whazoo for some authors. I’m expecting a line for you. I even coordinated with Sheila to make sure your lines wouldn’t hamper the other authors there. Nothing like pissing off someone because your lines blocked their tables.”

Fair enough. He’d be pissed if that happened to him. She stuttered her words a bit when she described the crowds, and it bothered him. He could see how terrified she was. It was written in every muscle. She tensed up like she was preparing for war. Maybe the gladiator reference made sense to her. She was preparing for war—a war with herself and her anxiety. He did want her to try. Her doctor told her she should try things, but if it was too much, he’d pack up, everyone else be damned.

A knock pounded on the door, and she jumped up to get it. He let her, since she seemed so intent on getting away from him. She couldn’t run for long, though, and that pleased him. He loved a good chase, loved catching his prey, holding them down, and showing them how much they pleased him.

He wanted her. More than he had anyone else. He admitted it to himself. Now he just had to come to terms with what it meant if he did chase her, if he caught her. Becca knew him well enough to know he’d never settle down with one woman because he did get bored so easily. He’d love to promise her otherwise, but he knew himself as well as she did. He’d get bored and hurt her.

Was he willing to risk that? Every part of him that loved her said no, but the predator in him said hell, yes. He wanted her, friendship be damned.

She came back carrying four pizza boxes, a two liter of Coke, and some plates and cups. “I ordered you your nasty banana peppers and anchovies, so don’t touch mine.”

“Mushrooms, bacon, and spicy Italian sausage.”

She flashed him a smile. “You remember that?”

“You remember how I like my pizza.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been on the phone with you enough while you’re eating it that it’s burned into my memory. I think I might have ordered pizza once while talking to you.”

“I have an excellent memory.” Actually, he didn’t. That was why he kept such detailed spreadsheets about his books. He knew if he didn’t, he’d screw storylines up. He barely remembered his own family’s birthdays, but with Rebecca, he always remembered things. From her favorite flower, which he sent her every year on her birthday, to how she ordered her pizza.

He frowned, contemplating that. It was odd. Why did he remember the smallest facts about her, things she may have only said in passing, like how she loved the old movieIf A Man Answers? They’d been talking about movies, and she’d told him it was one of her favorites. He’d found it and sent it to her for Christmas a few years ago.

Babbywould tell him why. He could hear his grandmother’s voice cackling in his head, but he refused to admit it. The old woman would be enjoying this whole mess.

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