you choose to do." She brushed her hands together as if dispensing with the conversational topic. "Speaking of choices, what would you like to do now?"
Sit down and cry, Martina wanted to say. Instead, she swallowed her emotions and said, "I'd like to decide where to put everything you brought." She pretended to focus on the task at hand, but in her mind, she felt Noah's presence. The strange connection she'd felt with him in Chicago and buried when she'd left wrapped around her like a silken rope. Soft but deceptively strong. Felicity and Brock's argument played through her mind in stereo, however, reminding her that she couldn't give in to crazy fantasies about Noah.
For her family. For herself.
----
Chapter 6
« ^ »
M artina glanced at her cuckoo clock for the fortieth time and scowled. She was getting used to his calls and his visits. When he'd called last night, he'd told her he would see her tonight around seven. It was after eight. What if he'd been in an accident? Her heart stuttered at the thought. Had he forgotten? She struggled with pure liquid fury.
She'd been reviewing the same part of a Web page for the past thirty minutes. She shouldn't care. It shouldn't matter. In fact, she should be relieved. After all, Noah had become an unwelcome intruder in her life.
The doorbell rang and she sprang from her chair and ran to open the front door. "Where in hell have you been?" she asked, searching Noah's face. "You look tired."
"A tractor-trailer turned over on the highway, spilled oil over the road. I had to take a detour."
"Oh," Martina said, and took a careful breath. "Did you forget your cell phone?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I tried a couple of times, but I must've been in a dead zone." He met her gaze. "Are you pissed off or upset?"
Martina felt a surge of conflicting emotions and the terrible, overwhelming urge to cry. "Oh, damn," she muttered. "Damn. Absolutely not," she sternly told herself.
"Huh?" Noah reached out to lift her chin so he could see her face. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not," she insisted.
His brow wrinkled. "Then what's wrong?"
Martina shook her head and took several quick breaths. "I'm fine. I'm not going to cry."
He looked at her in shock. "Cry?"
"I'm not going to cry," she said, closing her eyes and feeling a tiny tear escape the corner of one.
She felt his warm, long finger on her cheek. "You were worried about me," he said in astonishment. "You're upset because you didn't want anything to happen to me."
Martina opened her eyes. "Don't read anything into it. It doesn't mean anything," she told him. "It's those dingdong pregnancy hormones."
He pulled her against him. "You missed me."
"I did not," Martina said, relishing the comfort of his arms.
"Okay, then I'll leave."
She tightened her hands on his arms. "Don't," she whispered, a request she couldn't stifle.
"Admit it," he said. "You care for me."
"I care for every human being on the planet except ax murderers and very mean people."
"But you didn't worry about every human being on the planet tonight. You worried about me." He lowered his head putting his mouth inches from hers. "Admit it."
You can't make me. You can't make me, she thought, zipping her lips.
"Shy?" Noah asked in a gently mocking voice. "I'm surprised. You're many things, but I've never thought of you as shy."
"I'm not!" Completely out of sorts, she felt as if her composure had taken the last train to Beaumont .
Startling her, he swung her up into his arms and carried her into the softly lit den. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed. "Trying to give yourself a hernia?"
"There you go again – worrying about me. Careful, Martina, or I'll start thinking you truly care about me."
"Oh, that's ridiculous," she muttered, relieved when he set her down on the couch. She started to rise, but Noah put his hands on either side of her, trapping her.
"I would be just fine if you would give me a little space," she told him.
"Maybe later," he said, pulling her
Sit down and cry, Martina wanted to say. Instead, she swallowed her emotions and said, "I'd like to decide where to put everything you brought." She pretended to focus on the task at hand, but in her mind, she felt Noah's presence. The strange connection she'd felt with him in Chicago and buried when she'd left wrapped around her like a silken rope. Soft but deceptively strong. Felicity and Brock's argument played through her mind in stereo, however, reminding her that she couldn't give in to crazy fantasies about Noah.
For her family. For herself.
----
Chapter 6
« ^ »
M artina glanced at her cuckoo clock for the fortieth time and scowled. She was getting used to his calls and his visits. When he'd called last night, he'd told her he would see her tonight around seven. It was after eight. What if he'd been in an accident? Her heart stuttered at the thought. Had he forgotten? She struggled with pure liquid fury.
She'd been reviewing the same part of a Web page for the past thirty minutes. She shouldn't care. It shouldn't matter. In fact, she should be relieved. After all, Noah had become an unwelcome intruder in her life.
The doorbell rang and she sprang from her chair and ran to open the front door. "Where in hell have you been?" she asked, searching Noah's face. "You look tired."
"A tractor-trailer turned over on the highway, spilled oil over the road. I had to take a detour."
"Oh," Martina said, and took a careful breath. "Did you forget your cell phone?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I tried a couple of times, but I must've been in a dead zone." He met her gaze. "Are you pissed off or upset?"
Martina felt a surge of conflicting emotions and the terrible, overwhelming urge to cry. "Oh, damn," she muttered. "Damn. Absolutely not," she sternly told herself.
"Huh?" Noah reached out to lift her chin so he could see her face. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not," she insisted.
His brow wrinkled. "Then what's wrong?"
Martina shook her head and took several quick breaths. "I'm fine. I'm not going to cry."
He looked at her in shock. "Cry?"
"I'm not going to cry," she said, closing her eyes and feeling a tiny tear escape the corner of one.
She felt his warm, long finger on her cheek. "You were worried about me," he said in astonishment. "You're upset because you didn't want anything to happen to me."
Martina opened her eyes. "Don't read anything into it. It doesn't mean anything," she told him. "It's those dingdong pregnancy hormones."
He pulled her against him. "You missed me."
"I did not," Martina said, relishing the comfort of his arms.
"Okay, then I'll leave."
She tightened her hands on his arms. "Don't," she whispered, a request she couldn't stifle.
"Admit it," he said. "You care for me."
"I care for every human being on the planet except ax murderers and very mean people."
"But you didn't worry about every human being on the planet tonight. You worried about me." He lowered his head putting his mouth inches from hers. "Admit it."
You can't make me. You can't make me, she thought, zipping her lips.
"Shy?" Noah asked in a gently mocking voice. "I'm surprised. You're many things, but I've never thought of you as shy."
"I'm not!" Completely out of sorts, she felt as if her composure had taken the last train to Beaumont .
Startling her, he swung her up into his arms and carried her into the softly lit den. "What are you doing?" she exclaimed. "Trying to give yourself a hernia?"
"There you go again – worrying about me. Careful, Martina, or I'll start thinking you truly care about me."
"Oh, that's ridiculous," she muttered, relieved when he set her down on the couch. She started to rise, but Noah put his hands on either side of her, trapping her.
"I would be just fine if you would give me a little space," she told him.
"Maybe later," he said, pulling her
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