Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,32

a clean snap. A slap to the face would have done it, but nothing would ever provoke Dylan to raise his hand to anyone, ever. So he’d used his voice like a verbal slap then, as he did now. “Focus,” he ordered, redirecting her. “We need to unpack your car. Lolly is in the truck, waiting.”

“Lolly.” Honey’s head jerked, but her eyes looked a little less wild, and her voice was somewhat calmer. She finally glanced from him to the open bay door and the truck sitting just beyond it. “She’s in the truck.”

It was the first rational thing she’d said, and his relief was profound. He focused on that, and simply shoved the rest aside. For the time being.

“Yes,” he said, still forcefully, but evenly. “She needs us to unpack this car. Do you understand?”

“Lolly needs us.” Honey looked back to Dylan. Her trembling had stopped and color was seeping back into her cheeks. “She’s really okay?”

“She’s fine. She great. You’ve seen her. Petted her. Do you want to go out and see her now?”

He expected Honey to nod and maybe stumble off toward the truck. At least she’d calmed down and wasn’t freaking out any longer. Instead, she was freaking him out. She reached up and very purposefully put her hands on his face. He went rigid, his heart skipping multiple beats as he waited to see if the trance would start all over again. He was a breath away from jerking back from her touch when she spoke.

“Are you okay?” She asked it softly, quietly. Her gaze probed his deeply.

He could still see some kind of disconnect as if she was looking, but seeing something only she could see.

“Your back . . . it healed, too?”

“It did, yes,” he said, not sure why the touch of her hands should be soothing to him. He should be the one trembling or shuddering.

As she splayed her fingers out so her fingertips brushed along his temples as if trying to deepen the connection, he felt a kind of... calm seep into him. “I’m fine,” he said quietly, matching her tone, keeping his gaze intently on hers.

Then she slid her hands to his chest, and his body leaped into awareness so fast, so hard, it almost left him breathless. It definitely left him speechless.

“Only not here,” she said, still searching his eyes. She pressed her palm against his heart. “Not here.”

He had absolutely no idea what to say to that. Or how to explain the way she was making him feel. She was crazy one second, disturbing the next. Then soothing, then . . . arousing him so swiftly he ached to the point of pain with the need to pull her against him, to cover that mouth, and dear God please, make her close those all-seeing, all-knowing eyes. The compulsion made no sense, but it took every last bit of restraint and control he had not to give in to it.

She lifted her gaze to his, and those clear green eyes were swimming in tears. It was like a punch to the gut, and hurt him in ways that made no sense. He didn’t even know her. But it about killed him to see it. What the hell was going on?

His resolve began to crumble, and he lifted his hands to cover hers, still pressed to his chest. “I’m fine, Honey,” he assured her. “Just fine.”

Her hands were cold, which surprised him. They had infused him with so much warmth, with comfort. He felt a fine trembling in her fingers, and noticed the same with her lips. But she didn’t say anything; the crazy didn’t come back. And, defenses eroding more rapidly than he could restore them, he took a step in, lifting one hand from hers, intent on cupping her cheek, on wiping away the tear there . . . but she slid her hands free, and broke eye contact before he could.

She looked somehow smaller, seemed more fragile, than she had at any point since he’d first laid eyes on her. And he had no earthly clue what to do about it . . . or why the hell it mattered so much.

Something had obviously just happened. To her. To him. Between them. A whole lot of something. As much as he’d like to just walk away and pretend it hadn’t, he didn’t. Couldn’t.

Batshit crazy? Maybe. Okay, certainly. But she’d gotten under his skin. And inside his head. And into a part of his past only he knew