Page 64 of Desperate Needs

But no warmth. Nothing that said Connor Callahan lived here.

It was unfinished. Empty of emotion.

I shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked, frowning as he grabbed his cell phone, futzing with the heating system I assumed.

“No. Um, hey, is something wrong?” I asked and reached for his arm.

Connor’s spine stiffened, and he casually moved away, so I dropped my hand. Turning his back, he held a chair out for me at the large, imposing granite table in what I assumed was the dining room.

There were two covered plates sitting atop the black runner that crossed the table. With them were a bottle of red wine, a basket of fresh bread, a dish of butter, a couple of short, thick candles, and a single Rio Samba rose in a silver vase.

It was beautiful. A burning orange at its core with darker, reddish hues tinting the tips of the delicate petals.

It was that splash of color I’d been dying to see. A little bit of fire in the cold, gray house.

“Sit, Clementine,” he repeated, and I did.

Touching nothing, I waited for him to take the chair opposite me.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong, Connor,” I tried again.

“Wrong? Should there be something wrong, Clementine?” he asked.

“No, I mean. I don’t know.”

“Let’s eat,” he grunted.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to play, I could play, too.

I snorted and shook out my napkin. But Connor didn’t smile.

He lifted the cover off my dish, then his next, and placed them on the space to his right.

I inhaled the steaming bowl of pasta and sighed.

I hadn’t eaten since my early sushi lunch with the girls, and I was famished. But I couldn’t shake the feeling something was up with him.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked.

“Pasta? Yeah, I like pasta. But that’s not what this is about, is it?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lied, and that pissed me off.

If he wanted to end this thing, he could man up and just say it, for fuck’s sake.

I crossed my arms across my chest, drawing his gaze to the cleavage I had on display, and that just seemed to make me even angrier.

“Stop it, Connor. Just tell me what’s going on?”

“Going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on. Who the fuck is Andrew?” he demanded, slamming his palms down on the table.

“Andrew?” I paused.

My heart started hammering, and I had to work to control my emotions. I was already on edge, but now I was simply stunned and more than a little confused.

I should have done more. I’m so sorry, Andrew.

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