Page 21 of Bedroom Therapy

“Thank God!” He turned his head toward her. “Why aren’t you climbing out of this bed and running screaming in the other direction?”

“Because I know you’re a good man, Zachary Grant—whether you want to admit it or not.”

“Oh yeah, how do you know?”

“Because I’m a trained psychologist. I’m a good judge of character.”

He made a dismissive sound. “But you didn’t much like finding me snooping in your room.”

She hoped the light wasn’t bright enough to reveal the stain that spread across her cheeks. “Not at the time. But when I thought about it, I realized you were doing your job—as you saw it. You wanted information about me, and you took an opportunity that presented itself.”

“You’ve sure changed your mind.”

It sounded like he was determined to make her say something negative about him. If so, he was going to be disappointed. Into the small bedroom, she said, “If you were an insensitive jerk, you wouldn’t be having nightmares about your wife’s kidnapping. You would have gotten over it.”

He snorted. “Former wife.”

She realized that words weren’t going to make him feel better. He had an answer for every argument she put forth. Stretching out her arm, she found his hand and clasped it. That was the only place they touched, just a few inches of his warm skin against hers, yet she felt as though she’d bridged a continental gulf.

Neither of them spoke. There were a lot of things she wanted to say, but she didn’t think he’d believe her. He’d been through a terrible experience. People were shaped by the things that happened to them. His wife had reacted one way. He’d reacted another.

He’d been hurt and scared and guilty. With her training, she was sure she could help him. If he would let her. Which she knew wasn’t a sure thing.

But that wasn’t her only motivation. There was something for her here, too. She sensed that he could help her. They hadn’t known each other long. Still, there was something about her relationship with him that was different from any man she’d met before in her life. Was it because he was the most frankly sexual man she’d ever been with?

She sighed. Or because she found him so appealing? She remembered lecturing him about relationships. Well, they seemed to have one. And she wanted to explore that. She wanted to find out what they meant to each other and what they might mean. For now she lay with him in bed, their fingers barely touching. It was such a minimal contact, yet she sensed its importance—to both of them.

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In the darkness of the motel bedroom, Amanda’s role had seemed clear. In the morning she wasn’t quite certain of where she stood with Zachary—or where she wanted to stand.

She was pretending to be asleep when she felt the mattress shift. Through slitted eyes, she saw him standing beside the bed, then walking rapidly to the bathroom. Through the closed door, she heard him getting dressed. Then he vacated the bathroom and exited the room—she assumed to give her some privacy while she got up.

She wanted to tell him that they should just act normally. But she was too off-balance to know what normal was. Instead, she focused on the simple tasks of getting dressed.

She had just emerged from the bathroom when he came back into the room and closed the door, which meant he must have been waiting right outside.

“Hi,” she said.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m going to pick us up some breakfast. And take care of some other stuff. Don’t worry if I don’t come right back. Put the chain on the door, and don’t let anyone but me in.”

“Okay.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“Something easy. A fast-food breakfast sandwich.”

“I can handle that.”

After setting the chain and making the bed, she got out her computer and some letters. But she hardly got any work done in the hour he was gone.

She kept looking toward the door. And she leaped up when he knocked. As she opened the door, he came in, carrying bags with a familiar logo.

Quickly she cleared the table of her work, and they both sat down.

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