No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,33

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Then what’s your problem? Are you afraid I’ll attack you, or something?”

“Certainly not!” she blurted, disgusted that she sounded so frightened. “This is a stupid conversation. I need to sneak up and check on the kids. I’m afraid the black lace undies you bought for the girls have gone to Suzy’s head, and she’s dying to show hers off.” Jess wheeled around, forgetting that her stick was resting on her shoulder. She felt the stick knock hard against something, and twisted back, horrified. She saw Lucas put a protective hand over his eye. “Oh, my goodness,” she cried in a whisper. “I hit you!”

He was shaking his head, as though to try to clear his vision. “I noticed,” he grunted under his breath.

“How bad is it? Should we rush you to a hospital?” She was terrified that she might have destroyed his vision. “I’m so sorry.” She brushed away his hand and gently holding the lids apart, peered up into the injured eye. “I can’t see much,” she said. “It’s too dark. We’d better get to some light.”

She took his hand and began to drag him along. “I hope I didn’t scratch the cornea, but I hear they can do wonderful things with laser surgery these days. I’m sure—” Her voice broke, and she sucked in a shuddery breath.

An instant later, she was facing him. Somehow he’d turned her around and was looking down at her sternly, one eye nearly closed. “Look, Jess,” he began seriously, “I’m fine. I don’t think it hit my eye, just grazed the lid. I’ll probably be bruised tomorrow, but I’m not really hurt. So shut up.”

He held her by her upper arms and shook her slightly. She swallowed, a little less panicky. “Are you sure? I mean, I’d never forgive myself if I’d maimed you.”

He gave a short laugh. “You’re a strange case, Mrs. Glen. You don’t mind screwing me out of a hundred million dollars, but you go all to pieces when you think you’ve scratched me. Why is that? Don’t you know I’d endure one hell of a lot of physical pain for that kind of money?”

She stared up into his beguiling features. He didn’t seem angry or even irritated; just mildly curious about the workings of her mind. And there was something else there, too. It wasn’t so much in the way he looked at her or his words, but the fact that he was holding her arms—gently, and for no good reason anymore. Her gaze slid to the ground. “Do you mean for one hundred million dollars you’d allow yourself to be blinded?”

“No, of course not,” he jeered. “But you’re not even slightly remorseful about the business crisis your Mr. Niceguy thing is causing me, and yet a little poke in my eye has you in tears.”

“Don’t be crazy!” she objected, embarrassed, unhappily aware that she’d been near tears a minute ago. He must have seen the telltale glimmer in her eyes, reflected by the dratted moonlight.

He frowned at her for another minute, then half smiled. It was a cynical look. “Good,” he said flatly. “Let’s keep it that way. I don’t want anyone crying on my account.”

Jess sensed that there was a postscript to his remark, unspoken yet very clear. And I don’t intend to become close enough to anyone else to cry for them, either.

Jess knew it would be foolhardy to make any comment, but for some reason, she longed to ask him what had made him so cold and remote.

Before she had a chance to open her mouth and insert her foot, somebody screamed.

7

After the second scream, Jess realized that it was more like a squeal and was coming from a young girl.

“I think Annie changed her attitude about Moses’s tongue action,” Lucas said, heading in the direction of the noise.

“Oh, Lord,” Jess muttered uneasily. She only hoped the foreplay hadn’t gone too far. They’d never had this sort of difficulty on a retreat before.

“Okay,” Lucas was saying to someone Jess still couldn’t see when she caught up. “What’s all the shouting about?”

Moses and Annie were half hidden in a scattering of leaves, but at the the sound of Lucas’s voice, Annie bolted up, hurriedly zipping her new lilac parka. “I—I tripped,” she stuttered, supporting herself with a hand on her companion’s shoulder. “Moses was helping—me—er—up.…”

“I’d say he was helping something up,” Lucas said, tossing his stick aside. “Let me give you a hand, Mr. Booker.” Without waiting for the boy to reply, he took