Page 122 of Homeport

Her eyebrows rose high. “Miranda punched you in the eye?”

“What? No. No.” Embarrassed, he probed around the ache with his fingertips. “I slipped on the stairs.”

“Really?” Her eyes were narrowed now, focused on the fresh cuts and seeping blood on his knuckles. “Did you punch the stairs?”

“I . . .” He held up his hand, his mouth going dry as he stared at it. He hadn’t even felt the pain. What was a man capable of when he stopped feeling pain? “Can I come in? I haven’t been drinking,” he said quickly, when he saw the rejection in her eyes. “I want to, but I haven’t been.”

“You won’t get a drink in my place.”

“I know.” He kept his gaze steady. “That’s why I want to come up.”

She studied him another moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

She unlocked her door and walked in to set her bag on a table covered with papers and forms and files, some of which were anchored with an adding machine.

“I’m doing my taxes,” she explained. “That’s why I went out to get this.” She took an economy-sized bottle of extra-strength Excedrin out of the bag. “You got a Schedule C, you got a headache.”

“I’ve already got the headache.”

“Figured. Let’s do some drugs.” With a half-smile, she turned to pour two glasses of water. She opened the bottle and shook out two tablets for each of them. Solemnly, they swallowed.

She moved back, took a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer. “Put that on your hand for now. We’ll clean it up in a bit.”

“Thanks.” He might not have felt the pain when he’d pounded the steering wheel, but he was feeling it now. From wrist to fingertip his hand was one obscene scream. But he bit back the wince as he laid the cold bag over it. He’d done enough to damage both ego and manhood in front of Annie McLean.

“Now, what did you do to piss off your sister?”

He very nearly lied, made up some idiotic sibling spat. Ego and manhood aside, he couldn’t manage to lie to those quiet, assessing eyes. “It might have been getting stinking drunk and humiliating her in front of her new boyfriend.”

“Miranda’s got a guy?”

“Yeah, sort of sudden. Nice enough. I entertained him by falling down the stairs, then throwing up part of my stomach lining.”

Sympathy fluttered in her stomach, but she only cocked her head. “You’ve been a busy boy, Andrew.”

“Oh yeah.” He tossed the bag of peas into the sink so he could pace. He had jitters tangled around his jitters. Couldn’t keep still. His fingers patted at his thighs, at his face, at each other as he prowled. “Then this morning, I decided to round things out by jumping all over her about work, family problems, her sex life.” He traced his fingers over his cheek, remembering the jolt of shock when she’d slapped him.

Because she caught herself taking a step toward him, Annie turned and rooted out antiseptic from a cabinet behind her. “It was probably the sex life crack that did it. Women don’t like their brothers poking into that area.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. But we’ve got a lot of trouble at the Institute. I’m under a lot of stress right now.”

She pursed her lips, glanced down at the piles of papers and forms, the envelopes of receipts, the worn-down stubs of pencils, and the reams of adding machine tape. “If you’re breathing, you have stress. You drink yourself blind, the stress is right there when your vision clears up.”

“Look, maybe I’ve got a little problem. I’m going to deal with it. I just need to take a little time, give my system a rest. I—” He pressed his fingers to his eyes, swayed.

“You’ve got a big problem, and you can deal with it.” She crossed to him, took his wrists and tugged his hands down so he would look at her. “You need a day, because it’s only today that has to count.”

“So far today sucks.”

She smiled, rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “It’s probably going to get worse. Sit down. I’ll doctor those knuckles, tough guy.”

“Thanks.” Then he sighed, said it again. “Thanks, Annie.”

He kissed her cheek in turn, then rested his head against hers just for the comfort of it. She still held his wrists, lightly, and her fingers felt so competent, so strong, her hair smelled so fresh and simple. He pressed his lips to it, then to her temple.

Then somehow his mouth was on hers, and the taste of her was flooding his ragged system like sunlight. When her fingers flexed in his, he released them, but only to frame her face with his hands, to draw her into him, hold her there while the sheer warmth of her soothed like balm on a wound.

So many contrasts, was all he could think. The tough little body, the soft sweep of hair, the clipped voice and generous mouth.

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