gathering up his supplies, he paused. Zach closed his eyes and started to mouth every single foul, nasty curse he could think of. He had four brothers. He could think of a lot of cusswords. Halfway through one that involved anatomical improbabilities and a goat, a hand touched his shoulder.
“Zach?”
Damn it, he couldn’t do this. Moving away, he started grabbing his supplies at random. Dumping trash, slamming the tools here, there. Being fucking careless with them, but he couldn’t look at her yet. If he did, she might see—
He went to dump the trash and turned around.
Abby was right there, dark brown eyes locked on his face, her shirt still knotted just under her breasts, leaving her belly bare.
“What is this?” she teased. “You make me play twenty questions all the time.”
Edging around her, he focused on cleaning up. “I’m thirty-two years old, Abby. Yeah. I’ve been in love,” he said, keeping his voice flat and his eyes on the task at hand. “It didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
“She never seemed to notice that I was staring at her when she walked into the room.” Eventually, he had to stop staring, because other people did notice . . . and then she started dating Roger, got engaged. She wasn’t his and he spent night after endless night wondering about all the chances he might have had.
Was he going to let that happen again?
Had fate dropped one more chance into his lap?
From the corner of his eye, he saw Abby approaching and he tensed. She leaned in and he blamed it on insanity, the devil, or his own desperate desire, but something pushed him. Turning his head at the very last moment so that the kiss she’d meant to brush against his cheek hit his lips.
It was light, quick, and soft . . . and he felt her gasp. The taste of her went straight down to his dick, tightening every muscle in his body, sending his heart into a full-on gallop.
Lust and love tangled inside him and he fisted his hands on the metal tray in front of him to keep from reaching for her.
A second later, it was over and Abby backed away. Fast. So fast, she practically tripped over her feet.
He pretended not to notice as he went back to work.
“Um. Well. Whoever she is, she’s got to be wrong in the head for not noticing you.”
* * *
Two a.m. . . . and all’s not well . . .
Abby lay on her right side, staring into the darkness and trying not to think. It wasn’t working well because every time she closed her eyes, she could only think about Zach. And that bare whisper of a kiss.
She should be sleeping.
If not sleeping, she should be working on the books. Running your own business meant there was always something to keep you busy.
If not that, she could be writing out a nice little script for what she planned to tell Roger when she called him.
But what was she doing?
Thinking about Zach.
Her heart stuttered in her chest as one very, very vivid memory flashed through her mind. As he’d been slipping the bandage onto her hip, she’d glanced over. Something about the look on his face, taut and unyielding, had sent her pulse racing up into the near-dangerous zone. His other hand had rested higher on her back and she could recall the way his touch had felt.
And damned if she hadn’t wanted to move back against him.
What would he have done?
“He would have thought you’d lost your mind.”
Groaning, she snatched the phone.
Zach was her best friend. But he was a guy and there were some things she just couldn’t discuss with a guy. Even when the guy was somebody you’d laughed with over bad porn back when you were teens.
For certain things, a girl just needed the ear of a girlfriend. For those things, she called Marin. Marin, another former child star, had thrived on the life and was currently one of Hollywood’s darlings.
Punching in Marin’s cell, she rolled onto her back and then yelped as her newly tattooed skin came in contact with the bed.
“Ah . . . Abby? Is that you?”
“Hey, Marin,” she said, easing into a sitting position and groaning. “Yeah, it’s me. I need . . .” she stopped and blew out a breath. Then she groaned as her eyes caught the clock. She’d totally forgotten how late it was. “I’m an idiot, calling this late.”