Quick Study - By Gretchen Galway Page 0,22

sorry,” he said, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “I was useless. I was sitting there doing jack squat, just watching. I didn’t want you to think I was stalking you or something.”

Bonnie didn’t think she would want a man’s hands around her, but he felt warm and strong and good. “I’m fine. Just hungry.”

He released her and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Sorry to grab you. That can’t be what you want right now.” His face was hard. “I could kill that bastard.”

Bonnie managed a smile. “I almost did.”

He took her in his arms again and tucked her head under his chin. His heart beat through his chest under her ear, soothing at first, until her body became aware of the rest of him, his hard thigh along hers, the earthy smell of his leather jacket. Then he pulled away.

“Look at me, grabbing you again,” he said. “What a prick. And you said you were hungry.”

“It’s late. Everything will be closed.”

“Everything?”

She gave him a look. “I’m not up for your place tonight.”

“You don’t have a kitchen?”

“I don’t cook.”

He laughed. “I can give it a shot. Come on. Your old lady friends are probably freaking out.”

“I know, I know. I’ve got to go in.”

They walked together across the street to her building, and after she unlocked the gate and they passed inside, he tucked her hand in his and walked down the hall to her door like love-sick fourteen-year-olds.

“You’re back!” Marilyn cried out from her recliner. “Lorraine! You can get off the computer now.”

“Oh, honey,” Lorraine said, rounding the corner and throwing her thin arms around her. “I’ve been reading all about post-traumatic stress disorder. I think you might have it.”

“Oh, shush up,” Marilyn said. “She just got home. Leave her the hell alone.”

Bonnie looked at Paul, frowning. “How did they know? I just told them I’d met an old friend.”

“They called me.”

“How’d they—” She put her hands on her hips. “Only use your cards for business, eh?”

“And you, Bonnie,” he said. “And you.”

“Aw, now that’s sweet,” Lorraine said.

“Uh-huh,” Marilyn said. “And now he can go. Bonnie needs to crawl in bed. Alone. She’s had enough of men for one night.”

“Now how would you know?” Lorraine asked. “Shouldn’t that be up to her?”

Bonnie stifled a laugh. Paul just shrugged and walked into the kitchen, opening cabinets. “I will go,” he said with dignity, “but first I’ll make Bonnie something to eat. If that’s all right with you two ladies.”

Marilyn wiggled herself ahead of him and pulled out a blue and yellow rectangular box. “This is what she needs.”

“But I can make—” Paul began.

“Trust me,” Marilyn said. “Nothing fancy tonight.” Then gave him a head-to-toe look that almost made Bonnie laugh.

Having three people fuss over her filled Bonnie with a soft, fuzzy feeling, and she went back to her bedroom to change into her favorite oversized pajamas and wait for her macaroni and cheese, secure in the knowledge that he wasn’t going to force himself on her again until she said she was ready.

With some embarrassment, she realized that might not be very long at all.

Chapter 7

He called her every day for the next week after she finally gave him her cell number, but it wasn’t until Saturday that he pulled up in front of her apartment building to take her out for an official date.

“You deserve better than macaroni and cheese out of a box.” He took her hand and led her out to his car. He’d dressed up for her in slacks and a sweater, which would have looked sweetly conservative it he weren’t wearing the familiar leather jacket and a pair of old Doc Martens. She wanted to nibble him.

“So we’ll get it in a restaurant?”

He squeezed her hand and opened the door for her. She waited for him to kiss her, but he just helped her into the car, then went around to his side. “Hope Berkeley isn’t too far,” he said. “It’s got my favorite pizza.”

She wasn’t paying attention. Who cared what they ate? She tugged her shirt lower and glanced at her face in the mirror. Not too much makeup for close contact, but enough to entice. Licking her lips, she flipped up the visor and reached over with her left hand to trace the long muscle in his thigh.

“Whoa,” he said patting her hand, then holding it there. He smiled at her. Not a sexy smile, but an aren’t-you-cute kind of smile.

Very annoying.

She pulled her hand away and glared at the freeway.