Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,33
about.
The stunning intensity of his physical response to her was part of it, too. Not just because he wanted to act on it, but because it scared the living hell out of him. Crazy had no part in his life, not for a bizarre moment in his garage, and sure as hell not for a one night stand . . . or anything more. It was not his path, not any longer, and never again. But tell that to his still thrumming body, and his hammering heart.
He needed to figure it out. Figure her out. If he understood what was going on, then he could deal with it. With her. Then he’d get as far away from her as possible. And stay there. Because crazy had no place in his life. He had to believe that. Or go crazy himself.
Chapter 6
Honey kept her gaze averted, trying to come back to full awareness. It was a challenge. Part of her was being pulled toward Dylan and the exceedingly vibrant aura that continued to hover all around him, while another part was silently freaking out at the enormity and complexity of what she’d just experienced. Still another part of her was struggling mightily to shove all of it aside and simply get a grip on the here and now—which meant not looking at him. And praying he kept his hands to himself, at least for another moment or two. Or forever.
A parade of heart pounding, terrifying images kept playing through her mind, everything she’d seen, felt . . . known. All of it about Dylan, and how close he’d come to dying in that fire. The other part of it was his sharply spoken commands, contrasting with the gentleness of his touch, knowing, even as she was still trapped in the vortex, that he was trying to be there for her. Even as she knew he couldn’t possibly do anything to help her, much less fix what was wrong with her. It was what it was. It lasted as long as it lasted.
But it had never, not ever, been like that. Past events, current emotions, all twisted and tangled. She’d seen one thing, and felt another, felt him the entire time. Her visions had never had that kind of scope or such vivid detail. The disconnect with what was going on around her was usually absolute, but this time she’d known he was with her, even as she watched every horrifying detail, how close he’d come to losing his life. Maybe that’s why it had affected her so viscerally. So . . . personally.
“I . . .” Her voice was little more than a rasp, and she realized her throat ached from suppressing the funnel of emotions she’d just been shoved through at warp speed.
“Shh,” he said. “You don’t have to—”
“Thank you.” She had to get at least that much out. “For trying. To help. Nothing does.” She rubbed her damp palms on the sides of her shorts, more to soothe away the last of her shakiness than to dry her suddenly sweaty palms.
“Honey—”
“I can’t look at you, at the moment.” She lifted her hands, palms out, dismayed that they still trembled ever so slightly. “Please—”
“I’m not going to touch you.” But he didn’t step back.
For some reason, that helped to calm her. He was like a barricade, or . . . or something. Against what, she didn’t know, since he’d been the trigger. But . . . having him close helped, so she didn’t question it.
“Okay. Good . . . okay.” She tried to take slow, steady breaths, but it was a struggle. Images still hovered, so closing her eyes wasn’t an option. She stared at her feet, at the grease stain under her toes. Anything innocuous.
“What happened?” he asked quietly, with more gentleness than she’d have thought him capable of exhibiting. “What happens to you?”
She shook her head. “Maybe . . . another time.”
“Okay. Does it happen often?”
She shook her head again. “It’s been . . . eight years . . . ten months . . . um, two weeks, and . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to think about the last time she’d let someone touch her, let someone trigger the curse. It had been in the distant and disconnected past. She’d built a whole life for herself since then. It had been in another lifetime, a different one, and as if it had happened to some other person.