wasn’t anything he could do about that.
“Want some breakfast?” he asked.
She turned toward the living room. “No, thanks.”
He followed close behind, telling himself he didn’t have to apologize for who his friends were.
“Did A.J. call last night?” she asked.
“She stopped by briefly, but we didn’t want to wake you. I had a hell of a time convincing her you’d be fine here until morning. Your brother returned your call, too. He wanted me to tell you that he picked Austin up at his grandparents’.” He paused, not happy with the three vertical lines of stress that had appeared above the bridge of her nose. “What about coffee? You probably could use some caffeine.”
“Thanks, but I could use a cab more.”
Her voice was cool, and he heard the vibration of nerves in it. Not a glimmer remained of the affability that had failed to desert her even after she’d been stabbed, stitched and sick. Seeing that stupid picture of her ex had knocked it right out of her. “It’s only six,” he said.
“I’m sure you have plenty to do after I wasted your entire day yesterday.”
“What’s another hour or two?” he asked, and smiled.
She didn’t return his smile as she carefully lowered herself to the sofa and bent forward to pick up a hiking shoe. She instantly froze and pressed a hand to her side. “Damn it,” she said on an exhaled breath.
Cole eased the coffee table aside and knelt before her, reaching for the shoe. “I’ll help you.”
She brushed his hands away. “I can do it.”
Sitting back on his heels, he watched her slip the shoe on and try twice to tie the laces. Her face flushed, and tiny beads of sweat popped out at her hairline. When she fumbled the laces the third time, he leaned forward and nudged her fingers aside. “Sit back,” he said.
“No, I can—”
“Sit back.” When she didn’t move, he looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “Please.”
She obeyed, letting her breath out in a pained hiss.
Sliding her other shoe on, he made short work of the laces. “So I guess you’re going to hold it against me that Daniel and I are friends.”
“I already knew that.”
“We were roommates in college.”
“Good for you.”
Cole looked up. “What difference does it make anyway?”
“That’s a pretty silly question. Men might not talk about their relationships as much as women do, but they still talk. And I know Daniel. He spins a good tale.”
“What happened between you two doesn’t matter to me.” As soon as he spoke the words, he realized they were a lie. Of course, it mattered. He didn’t think he would ever be able to forget what Daniel had told him. What she’d done struck far too close to home.
Bailey pushed herself up off the sofa, her hand planted firmly against her side. “I want to go home—” She broke off, closed her eyes briefly. “I want to go to my brother’s. Are you going to let me call a cab or am I hitchhiking?”
His throat ached, though he couldn’t say why. He had lost nothing. There had been nothing between them to lose. Yet disappointment churned through him. “I’ll take you,” he said.
“Fine. I’m ready to go now.”
“You need to eat something and take your medication.”
“I’ll take them later.”
“You need them now. Especially the painkiller.”
Green sparks of temper flared in her eyes. “What difference does it make to you?”
He stared at her, perplexed. She was willing to endure pain so she could get away from him a minute faster. And, damn it all to hell, the realization hurt.
“I’ll get dressed,” he said.
* * *
Alone, Bailey sank down onto the sofa and lowered her head, the fingers of her left hand curled around the edge of the seat cushion, her right clamped against the gnawing ache below her breast. She wanted to cry, scream, something.
She liked Cole Goodman. He’d proved himself to be a kind, decent man. And, God, that body. When he’d walked out of his
“Want some breakfast?” he asked.
She turned toward the living room. “No, thanks.”
He followed close behind, telling himself he didn’t have to apologize for who his friends were.
“Did A.J. call last night?” she asked.
“She stopped by briefly, but we didn’t want to wake you. I had a hell of a time convincing her you’d be fine here until morning. Your brother returned your call, too. He wanted me to tell you that he picked Austin up at his grandparents’.” He paused, not happy with the three vertical lines of stress that had appeared above the bridge of her nose. “What about coffee? You probably could use some caffeine.”
“Thanks, but I could use a cab more.”
Her voice was cool, and he heard the vibration of nerves in it. Not a glimmer remained of the affability that had failed to desert her even after she’d been stabbed, stitched and sick. Seeing that stupid picture of her ex had knocked it right out of her. “It’s only six,” he said.
“I’m sure you have plenty to do after I wasted your entire day yesterday.”
“What’s another hour or two?” he asked, and smiled.
She didn’t return his smile as she carefully lowered herself to the sofa and bent forward to pick up a hiking shoe. She instantly froze and pressed a hand to her side. “Damn it,” she said on an exhaled breath.
Cole eased the coffee table aside and knelt before her, reaching for the shoe. “I’ll help you.”
She brushed his hands away. “I can do it.”
Sitting back on his heels, he watched her slip the shoe on and try twice to tie the laces. Her face flushed, and tiny beads of sweat popped out at her hairline. When she fumbled the laces the third time, he leaned forward and nudged her fingers aside. “Sit back,” he said.
“No, I can—”
“Sit back.” When she didn’t move, he looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “Please.”
She obeyed, letting her breath out in a pained hiss.
Sliding her other shoe on, he made short work of the laces. “So I guess you’re going to hold it against me that Daniel and I are friends.”
“I already knew that.”
“We were roommates in college.”
“Good for you.”
Cole looked up. “What difference does it make anyway?”
“That’s a pretty silly question. Men might not talk about their relationships as much as women do, but they still talk. And I know Daniel. He spins a good tale.”
“What happened between you two doesn’t matter to me.” As soon as he spoke the words, he realized they were a lie. Of course, it mattered. He didn’t think he would ever be able to forget what Daniel had told him. What she’d done struck far too close to home.
Bailey pushed herself up off the sofa, her hand planted firmly against her side. “I want to go home—” She broke off, closed her eyes briefly. “I want to go to my brother’s. Are you going to let me call a cab or am I hitchhiking?”
His throat ached, though he couldn’t say why. He had lost nothing. There had been nothing between them to lose. Yet disappointment churned through him. “I’ll take you,” he said.
“Fine. I’m ready to go now.”
“You need to eat something and take your medication.”
“I’ll take them later.”
“You need them now. Especially the painkiller.”
Green sparks of temper flared in her eyes. “What difference does it make to you?”
He stared at her, perplexed. She was willing to endure pain so she could get away from him a minute faster. And, damn it all to hell, the realization hurt.
“I’ll get dressed,” he said.
* * *
Alone, Bailey sank down onto the sofa and lowered her head, the fingers of her left hand curled around the edge of the seat cushion, her right clamped against the gnawing ache below her breast. She wanted to cry, scream, something.
She liked Cole Goodman. He’d proved himself to be a kind, decent man. And, God, that body. When he’d walked out of his
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