Page 22 of Play Book

There’s a brief silence before Canyon comes around the island and puts one of his much bigger hands over mine. “I don’t know, but it’s better to be mad than sad or scared.”

“I’m still sad and scared,” I admit, “but now I’m also pissed off.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just being here has been great,” I say, pausing to look at him. “You came over for a hookup and wound up getting pulled into my crazy. I’m sorry about that, and if you need to go, I’ll be okay.”

“Do you need me to stay?” His gorgeous blue eyes bore into mine.

“I…” Lying would be stupid.

I’m a wreck.

I’ll manage if he leaves, but I might actually sleep if he doesn’t.

“Is it that hard to admit you need me to stay?” he asks after a moment.

“It is.” I pull in a shaky breath and then slowly let it out. “I’ve lived on my own for thirteen years. I own a home, two businesses, and travel all over the world by myself regularly. I have a security system that cost a fortune and neighbors right next door in a true emergency—I should be fine!” I say the words but without much conviction.

“But you’re not.” He pulls me into his arms, and I don’t bother trying to resist.

Something about him makes me feel safe. Warm. Comfortable.

“Let’s have some tea,” he says after a moment. “Then I’m going to rub your back and tuck you in. Just get me a pillow, and I’ll be fine on the couch.”

I shake my head, giving him a soft, appreciative smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. How tall are you? Six two? Six three? You can’t sleep on the couch. You can sleep on my bed or in the guest room. You’re doing me a huge favor by staying tonight—the least I can do is make you comfortable. Besides, you were supposed to sleep in my bed tonight anyway.”

I’m attempting to be funny, but it falls a little flat.

“I don’t expect anything,” he says as I pull the kettle off the burner. “You know that, right?”

“I do. I’m just rattled and rambling. Don’t mind me.”

I put a dollop of honey in my cup. “Do you like lemon or honey with your tea?”

“I’ll have it however you’re having it.”

I pause, turning back to him. “You don’t drink tea, do you?”

“Not often, but I will tonight.”

“Okay.” I make two cups and hand him one.

For some reason, I’m using my antique English teacups. They have pale blue and pink flowers on them and are extremely girly. I usually only use them with my girlfriends, but I haven’t been paying attention and now it’s too late to change them.

Canyon either hasn’t noticed or doesn’t mind, lifting his cup and taking a tentative sip. “Oh. It’s good.” He sounds surprised and I smile.

“Chamomile is wonderful, especially at night.”

“Let’s go sit in the living room,” he says. “We can relax a little before I put you to bed.”

Part of me feels a jolt of excitement before the scene at the gallery flashes through my mind.

WHORE.

A prickle of shame washes over me.

Am I?

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