Page 40 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

He was watching me intently, focusing on me the way he used to focus on the ball-carrier. “Stop pushing me away. We need to talk about this.”

I shook my head. “No, we don’t. Not yet. All I’m asking of you is to just let things ride for a little while, let me think.”

“About this?” he asked, leaning down to pick up an opened notebook from the couch where he’d been sitting. I recognized the one I’d used last night, with my list of the things he’d said—and I knew I’d left it on my bedside table.

I was horrified. “You snooped upstairs!” I accused. “That’smylist, not yours! Yours is on the counter!” I pointed toward his list of transgressions, which hadn’t been moved; he was still ignoring it. I didn’t like him knowing I’d sat up last night obsessing about the accusations he’d made, although he probably didn’t need to see that list to guess I hadn’t got much sleep.

“You’re avoiding me,” he calmly pointed out, not the least bit uncomfortable. “I have to get information somehow. And since I don’t deal with situations by running away from them…”

The accusation was obvious. I said, “I’m not running away from the situation. I’ve beentryingto get everything sorted out in my head. If I were running away from it, I wouldn’t be thinking about it at all.” That was true, and he knew it. I have great avoidance skills. What I didn’t say was that he was right, that there was a great deal I hadn’t yet been able to face, because facing it might mean the end of Us, big U, us as a couple.

“But you are avoidingme.”

“I have to.” I met his gaze. I can’t think when you’re around. I know you; I knowus.It would be too easy to end up in bed together, to gloss over this and not get anything settled.”

“You can’t think when you’re at work?”

“I’mbusywhen I’m at work. Do you spend all your time thinking about me when you’re at work?”

“More than I should,” he said grimly.

That admission made me feel a little better, but only a little. “There are too many interruptions at work. I need some quiet time, some alone time, to get things worked out in my head so I know where I stand.Thenwe’ll talk.”

“Doesn’t it strike you that this is something we should work out together?”

“When I know exactly what it is…yeah.”

Frustrated, he rubbed his hand over his face. “What do you mean—?Thisis what it is,” he said, holding up the notebook like Exhibit A.

I shrugged, unable to get into an item-by-item breakdown, which was probably exactly what he wanted.

“You thought about things last night, obviously, or you wouldn’t have made this list.”

“Some. The three obvious ones, anyway.”

“And you had all morning to think about the other four.”

Man, what was I, the suspect in a triple homicide? Any minute now he would be shining a light in my face. “As it happens, I was busy this morning. I was with Jazz.”

His expression changed, softened a little. Being with Jazz meant I was still working on our wedding. “And?”

“And I’ll be busy tomorrow morning, too.” Looking for material for my wedding gown and, if possible, meeting with Monica Stevens.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“That’s all I’m prepared to tell you.”

All this time we’d been facing each other like enemy soldiers, he in the living room while I still stood in the dining room, with twelve, maybe fifteen feet separating us. That wasn’t far enough, because I could still feel the tug of chemistry between us, still see the heat in his eyes that meant he was thinking about jumping my bones. My bones were very happy at the idea of being jumped by him. Even with all this unfinished business between us, I wanted him.

The temptation to walk into his arms and forget about all this was strong. I know myself, know how truly, pathetically weak I am when it comes to him, so I looked away to break that eye-to-eye thing we had going on. The red light blinking on my telephone base caught my attention, and automatically I walked over to punch the button and hear the message.

“I know you’re alone.”

The whisper was barely audible, but it rasped along my nerve endings, made my hair stand up. I jumped back from the answering machine as if it were a snake.

“What is it?” Wyatt asked sharply, suddenly beside me and seizing me with a firm grip. From where he was standing, he hadn’t been able to hear the message.

My first impulse was not to tell him, not after he’d accused me of calling him about every little thing that popped into my head. Hurt pride can cause people to do stupid things. When I’m scared, though, hurt pride can go hang itself, and this business of people following me around had me spooked.

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