Page 29 of The Holiday Clause
Is that what she thought? “I’ve only ever wanted to protect you.”
“From what? We live in one of the safest towns on the planet. I don’t need protection. I need affection. Are you honestly going to act like you don’t want the same?”
Of course, he wanted it, but not with Wren. If they crossed that line, they’d never be able to uncross it. He’d inevitably screw it up and then she’d hate him for disappointing her. “Sometimes, it doesn’t matter what we want. It only matters that we know what’s right and what’s wrong and choose correctly.”
She gaped at him. “Was it right for you to chase away every guy who ever showed interest in me?” She shoved his chest. “Was it?” Her brows pinched. “Answer me.”
“Wren...” He was speechless. “I’m not...” Words evaded him. He checked his motives, but quickly grew frustrated with all that deep reflection.“You’re the one who followed me in here!”
She scoffed and looked away. “You should go.”
“Don’t get upset.”
“What do you care anyway if I’m upset?”
“I care.”
She scooted around him and adjusted her clothes. Her voice contracted as if she were holding back tears. “No, you don’t.”
“Wren...” He reached for her, but she drew back and knocked into the trash can full of rakes and shovels.
“Ouch!”
“Shit.” He shoved the falling tools, but not before more crashed into her and clattered loudly to the floor.
She cupped her shoulder protectively.
“Let me see.”
“Don’t.” She curled away as he tried to move her hand.
“Knock it off. Let me look at it.” He pulled her fingers away, revealing a surface scratch. “It’s just a graze.” Nothing that would scar, but it probably stung like a son of a bitch. He scowled at the spilled trash can. “Bodhi needs a better system. You’re lucky it didn’t leave a gash.”
She glanced over her shoulder and met his stare. They were too close.
Stepping back, he said, “You should still clean it out.”
She pointed to a small metal box hanging on the wall by the door. “There’s disinfectant in there.”
He looked at the little vintage box and frowned. It looked like a prop fromMASH. “Do you have anything from this century?”
She rolled her eyes. “I keep it stocked with up-to-date supplies.”
He pulled down the box and sorted through the gauze and tapes until he found alcohol wipes. “This should work. Sit here.” He cleared an empty stack of flower pots off the work table and lifted her onto the surface.
She turned her shoulder and lowered her shirt. There was something so elegant and feminine about her body. Every inch of muscle seemed honed to perfection, like a natural work of art.
She gasped when he touched the alcohol-soaked towel to the cut.
“Sorry. Does it sting?”
“It’s cold.” She shivered.
“There. Good as new.” He pulled her shirt and sweater into place and stood silently for a moment. “About what happened?—”
“It’s fine. We don’t have to dissect it.”
“I should have had more control.”
