on the hurt part. I’d felt the blow. “The cops are checking to see if someone set the fire.”
“Arson?” he scoffed. “More likely your kiln.” An old pizza oven I’d been using to fire my newfound pottery habit.
“Whereas I’m hoping faulty wiring.” Because I was pretty sure my insurance would cover it.
“It could have been any number of things,” he agreed. “But you’re safe, if banned from going on walks alone.”
“I’m fine.”
“Let’s make sure of that.” He patted my hand in a way that was more father than lover. Ugh. He glanced at the stairs. “Would you like me to fetch someone so you’re not alone when I leave?”
“I thought Trish was here.”
“She was, but she left to handle something.”
“Then maybe you should stay a while longer.” I clutched at his hand because it occurred to me that I had Darryl in my bedroom. Me and him and a bed. I also had a pasty mouth and probably bedhead.
“Stay…” He glanced away then back. “Of course.”
Oh, shit he said yes. “Can you give me a second. I need a drink.” Before he could offer to fetch me something, I rolled out of bed and noticed the knees of my pants were soaked and cold, a reminder I’d been kneeling in snow. I’d only been stripped out of my coat and boots. I closed the door to the bathroom and wished I had access to fresh clothes. I brushed my teeth and gargled quickly. By the time I turned around to dry my face and hands, there was a pair of pants hanging on the bar with the towel.
Thank you, house!
The leggings were warm, as if from the dryer, and kept parts of me tucked in the right places. When I emerged, it was to see Darryl sitting on the window seat, rooting through Martin’s old box, which I’d have sworn I hadn’t left lying out.
“What are you doing?”
He lifted his head only briefly. “You keep your ex-husband’s stuff in your room.” Stated, not even a query.
It roused an irritation in me. “You shouldn’t be looking through my things.”
“Why not? Is it because you’re hiding something from me?”
Did he really accuse me? “I have nothing to hide.”
“Don’t you?” He swept his hand at the box. “Are you pining over your failed marriage?”
The term failed hit me hard. “I didn’t screw it up.” How dare he even say so?
As if Darryl realized he’d gone too far, his face turned apologetic. “I’m sure you didn’t. I shouldn’t have let my jealousy speak for me,” he soothed.
My bruised ego soaked up the praise, but at the same time, I remained annoyed. I’d never seen this side to Darryl before. “Martin and I grew apart.”
“It happens. His loss, my gain.” Offered with a smile. “Obviously, there was something wrong with the man to not realize what kind of gem you are.”
“You think I’m a gem?”
“Precious and rare,” he stated, grabbing my hands. He drew me to him, sitting me on his lap, which thrilled me to no end.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue and carrying me.” I cupped his face and smiled.
“You’re welcome.” The proper respectful thing to say, and yet for some reason, I could hear a mocking Kane saying, Thank me with your tongue.
Maybe I would. Before I could chicken out, I kissed Darryl. He kissed me back, and excited, I groaned against his lips, squirmed against him. Maybe he’d get the hint.
Instead of taking off my clothes, he pulled away. “We can’t.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You should be resting.”
“I’m fine,” I protested.
“You’ve suffered an ordeal,” he insisted, stroking my hair back. “Give yourself time to recover.”
“Kissing you helps me relax.” I was bold.
He laughed softly. “But the things kissing make me want to do are anything but. I’ll wait until you’re one hundred percent.”
He was such a gentleman. He put me back to bed and kissed me on the forehead saying he’d see me tomorrow.
I heard the front door close then his truck as he left. I couldn’t sleep. What happened by the water? Had I cast a spell that knocked me out?
I wandered out of my bed, restless and not tired despite what Darryl seemed to think. I sat in the window seat and noticed the pile of journals. I grabbed one written in the last few years.
February 14th. I told her I had to work, and she believed it. As if I’d want to be with her when I could have my Helena.
I frowned. How odd that Martin’s girlfriend had the