his expression forbidding. “Make it quick.”
She was antsy about asking, and couldn’t figure out why. Apparently some part of her wanted to think there was more to him that was human than his ability to feel physical pain. She’d seen a flash of something entirely charming when she’d embarrassed him out there on the lawn. Charming and unguarded, and worthwhile. He hadn’t quite smiled at her; still, she’d had the oddest feeling he’d wanted to, but had forced himself to remain stern. She’d felt it again when she’d seen him bend down to talk to Jack. She hoped she had, anyway….
Something warm and strong closed about her hand, and her glance fell to see long, male fingers covering hers. Her eyes widening with surprise, she stared up at him questioningly.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Either the British are coming or you’re sinking hard by the bow.”
“What?” she whispered. His fingers squeezing hers seemed to have scattered her wits.
He nodded toward her hand, still covered by his. “Your Morse code.” His penetrating eyes were on her, and his grimness seemed to have thawed slightly, “Jess,” he began. “Is it me, all men, or all adults who make you nervous?”
The room had grown warm. Hot, even. Her brain gave her hand strict instructions about removing itself from his, but nothing happened; her hand remained lightly captured, with no urge to be free.
With monumental effort, she hurriedly withdrew her hand and declared, “Don’t be silly. Why should I be afraid of you?” It sounded more convincing than she’d dared hope.
“I—I was just curious about something, and I wasn’t sure it was my business to ask.” That was true, but not as true as it might have been if she’d told him everything. About her fear of type As, for instance. But what was worse, was a truth she dared not even think about—how his sultry glance bothered her when he stared at her just so, or how his touch…
She swallowed, deciding it would be best not to dwell on that. “I—I was wondering what you said to Jack earlier. When he was sitting on the floor in your living room.”
Lucas’s brows came together, as though the question had come out of left field and wasn’t one he wanted to answer. “What I said?” He shrugged, looking impatient. “I don’t recall.”
She prodded, “When you squatted down beside him.”
His lids slipped down over his eyes, masking his thoughts. “I imagine you mean when I asked if he was okay.”
She felt a torrent of relief. How nice. “Yes, he was really overwhelmed about winning, wasn’t he? It was sweet of you to say something.”
“Sweet?” There was contempt in his tone.
She nodded, her smile faltering. “Of course. You noticed he was near tears and you cared enough to check on him. I think that’s sweet.”
He sat forward, placing his hands flat on the table. The move seemed vaguely ominous. “Damn it to hell,” he ground out. “Look, my little bleeding heart. Don’t make assumptions about me based on your Pollyanna view of the world. I wasn’t being sweet. I stepped on the kid’s hand, and I checked to make sure I hadn’t broken it.” He pushed up to stand. “Don’t make me out to be more than I am. I’m not Norman Roxbury, and I don’t intend to be,” he warned. “I live by one rule, and that is, Never Get Close Enough To Care. I don’t care about that kid or anybody else. Is that clear?”
His words were like ice water pitched in her face, and she sagged back, staring up at him in disbelief. “But-but you care about Mr. Roxbury.”
“I owe the man, damn it. And I’m paying him back. Period.”
“You’re lying.”
He scowled in cold fury. “Not everybody operates at gut level, Mrs. Glen. Some of us live by logic and reason.”
“Don’t forget greed and insensitivity!” she spat.
“Believe what you please.”
She stared at him, and he stared back. The strong lines of his handsome face were rigid and uncompromising. Finally she slumped back, defeated. She’d been wrong, after all. He was not a man capable of gentleness or compassion. For whatever reason, he chose to feel nothing, to care for no one.
Listlessly she checked her watch. “It looks like you’re going to be more than five minutes late, Mr. Brand. You’d better go.”
Anger and fatigue skulking in his eyes, he gave a curt nod of dismissal, and pivoted away. “Maxim will see you out,” he muttered.
“Don’t forget. Ten sharp,” she called, irritation swelling to overcome