lowered it
again her hair was sticking up in spiky tufts like a little kid’s and her scar
was once again on display.
Oliver kept his gaze fixed on her face, determined not to make
the same mistake twice.
“So, um, I guess the storm woke you, too, huh?”
“I guess. I heard water running and Mr. Smith was missing from
outside my bedroom. I figured something must be up.” She lifted her drink to her
mouth and he saw that she was trembling, the fine movement making the amber
fluid shiver in the glass.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
She was pale and she was soaked and she was shaking. Patently
not fine, despite her bravado.
“This is normal. I just need a few minutes, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you humor me and take them sitting down? Because if
you keel over we’re both in big trouble, since what I know about first aid could
fit on a postage stamp.”
“How about you humor me and trust that I know my own strength?” Mackenzie
snapped.
He took an instinctive step backward, retreating from the anger
in her suddenly fierce blue eyes. This was why he’d hesitated before following
her into the house—for whatever reason, this woman and he were not destined to
get on.
“Why don’t I go check on the situation outside?” He set down
his glass and headed for the door, his mind on only one thing—escape.
“Oliver, wait,” Mackenzie said. “Please?”
There was a softness, a sincerity to her words that made him
pause on the threshold.
“That was...out of line. Hugely out of line. I’m really sorry,
okay?” she said as he faced her.
He nodded, very aware of his wet, cold clothes, keen to simply
be gone now.
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I was in a car
accident a year ago. A pretty bad one. I was in hospital for months, then
rehab... I guess what I’m trying to say is that people telling me how I feel or
what I can do or not do—or even if I’m okay or not—is a really hot button for
me. When you’ve been a patient for months, regaining control of your body and
your life is a precious, precious thing. That’s not an excuse, by the way, just
an explanation. You came to my rescue when you didn’t have to, and I am so, so
grateful for that. Can we rewind and erase the last sixty seconds?”
She scanned his face, clearly waiting for his response.
He didn’t doubt her sincerity, but he still wanted to be gone.
He wasn’t up for negotiating with prickly, difficult personalities right now. He
had enough crap in his own life to deal with.
“Sure. But I should probably still check on the storm.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before lightning
flickered once again, closely followed by the clap of thunder.
She collected his glass and offered it to him. “At least finish
this before you go. Never let it be said that I drove a man screaming into the
night without letting him finish his drink first.”
“Actually, I’m not the biggest fan of Scotch.” He figured he
might as well be honest, since he had nothing to lose.
She looked dismayed. “You should have said. Why didn’t you
say?” Then she shook her head. “Don’t answer that—I know why. Because you’re a
nice guy, and I’m a harpy.”
“You’re not a harpy.”
“Yeah, I am. A harpy with a horny dog and zero social skills.”
She sank onto the arm of the sofa. “Believe it or not, before the accident I was
actually not too bad to be around. I may have even been likable.”
She looked sad, sitting there in her soggy pajamas with her
ruffled hair, her expression equal parts bemusement and regret.
“You’re not a harpy. Just a bit scary.”
She blinked, then huffed out a laugh. As he’d hoped she
would.
“Scary, huh?” she asked.
“In that intense, I’ve-had-too-many-coffees-today kind of way.”
He said it lightly and she smiled.
“You know what’s funny about that? I haven’t had a coffee for
months. Makes me feel sick now. Which is weird
again her hair was sticking up in spiky tufts like a little kid’s and her scar
was once again on display.
Oliver kept his gaze fixed on her face, determined not to make
the same mistake twice.
“So, um, I guess the storm woke you, too, huh?”
“I guess. I heard water running and Mr. Smith was missing from
outside my bedroom. I figured something must be up.” She lifted her drink to her
mouth and he saw that she was trembling, the fine movement making the amber
fluid shiver in the glass.
“Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
She was pale and she was soaked and she was shaking. Patently
not fine, despite her bravado.
“This is normal. I just need a few minutes, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you humor me and take them sitting down? Because if
you keel over we’re both in big trouble, since what I know about first aid could
fit on a postage stamp.”
“How about you humor me and trust that I know my own strength?” Mackenzie
snapped.
He took an instinctive step backward, retreating from the anger
in her suddenly fierce blue eyes. This was why he’d hesitated before following
her into the house—for whatever reason, this woman and he were not destined to
get on.
“Why don’t I go check on the situation outside?” He set down
his glass and headed for the door, his mind on only one thing—escape.
“Oliver, wait,” Mackenzie said. “Please?”
There was a softness, a sincerity to her words that made him
pause on the threshold.
“That was...out of line. Hugely out of line. I’m really sorry,
okay?” she said as he faced her.
He nodded, very aware of his wet, cold clothes, keen to simply
be gone now.
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I was in a car
accident a year ago. A pretty bad one. I was in hospital for months, then
rehab... I guess what I’m trying to say is that people telling me how I feel or
what I can do or not do—or even if I’m okay or not—is a really hot button for
me. When you’ve been a patient for months, regaining control of your body and
your life is a precious, precious thing. That’s not an excuse, by the way, just
an explanation. You came to my rescue when you didn’t have to, and I am so, so
grateful for that. Can we rewind and erase the last sixty seconds?”
She scanned his face, clearly waiting for his response.
He didn’t doubt her sincerity, but he still wanted to be gone.
He wasn’t up for negotiating with prickly, difficult personalities right now. He
had enough crap in his own life to deal with.
“Sure. But I should probably still check on the storm.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before lightning
flickered once again, closely followed by the clap of thunder.
She collected his glass and offered it to him. “At least finish
this before you go. Never let it be said that I drove a man screaming into the
night without letting him finish his drink first.”
“Actually, I’m not the biggest fan of Scotch.” He figured he
might as well be honest, since he had nothing to lose.
She looked dismayed. “You should have said. Why didn’t you
say?” Then she shook her head. “Don’t answer that—I know why. Because you’re a
nice guy, and I’m a harpy.”
“You’re not a harpy.”
“Yeah, I am. A harpy with a horny dog and zero social skills.”
She sank onto the arm of the sofa. “Believe it or not, before the accident I was
actually not too bad to be around. I may have even been likable.”
She looked sad, sitting there in her soggy pajamas with her
ruffled hair, her expression equal parts bemusement and regret.
“You’re not a harpy. Just a bit scary.”
She blinked, then huffed out a laugh. As he’d hoped she
would.
“Scary, huh?” she asked.
“In that intense, I’ve-had-too-many-coffees-today kind of way.”
He said it lightly and she smiled.
“You know what’s funny about that? I haven’t had a coffee for
months. Makes me feel sick now. Which is weird
Similar Books
