Page 43 of Conail
"She's been through hell," he reminded her tersely.
"That might be the case, but she's much better now and she misses her home and her family." A smile touched her lips. "Maeve wants to prepare some of her delicious meals for her."
"Her stomach is still vulnerable."
"She's aware of that." She eyed him for a minute. "Why not suggest she stays with you?"
His body jerked at that, and he wondered if she could read his mind. That was what he had been battling with. That was the reason he was at war with himself. Ever since he left the hospital, he had been thinking about it. She should come and stay with him. So, he could keep an eye on her, or so he told himself.
Deep down, he knew that was not the reason. Deep down he knew exactly why he wanted her at his place and was afraid that if that happened... He drew firm brakes on the dangerous thoughts. It would be wrong and stupid. He had no intention of getting involved with her.
"Why the hell would I do that?" he snapped it out, emotions in a tangle.
"To keep an eye on her." It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her expression neutral when inside she was dancing a jig. She had seen the look on his face when he arrived at the hospital and even Charlene had commented on it. He was becoming deeply involved, even if he did not want to admit to it. Right now, his expression was a torment of indecision as if he had no idea what to do next. Yasmine was pulling something out of him. He was reluctant about it, but it was happening, and he could not stop it.
"That's what we're paying that overpriced doctor and nurse for," he muttered. "If she goes to the farm, what then? Should we ask them to check in on her? Will her mother see to it that she rests?"
"I'm sure Maeve will see to all of it," she assured him softly. "You're worried about her."
"I'm human, am I not?" he retorted. "Of course I'm worried." He passed a hand over the back of his neck, and she noted belatedly how weary he looked.
"Darling, have you eaten a decent meal since you returned?"
His lips curved and his expression softened. "Trying to take care of me?"
"It's still my job." She held out a hand and relenting, he crossed to her and sat next to her, taking her delicate hand in his. "I've been less than civil."
Her eyes twinkled. "Really? I hadn't noticed."
He snuffled a laugh and felt himself relaxing. "The trip to China and Italy were successful."
"I had no doubt it was. You need some form of relaxation. Something to take your mind off things. The winter gala is coming up in two weeks."
Letting go of her hand, he settled back against the plump cushions and stretched his legs out. It was a wonder he had never even thought about entertainment over the past month or so. His mind had been so filled with thoughts of her and what she was going through that nothing else mattered. It surprisedhim that she had managed to leak into every crevice and corner of his subconsciousness.
It was not just concern about her, but he was afraid it was much more than that. He was having incredibly erotic thoughts. He saw her lips when he closed his eyes and even when they were wide open, he still saw them. It was getting to the point where he was going a little mad with desire. Going to the gala might take his mind off her. And he really should find some sort of release for all the pent-up passion raging inside his body.
"I think that's a good idea," he said slowly.
"Wonderful. This year promises to be an event. Kelly and Leesa as well as some of the other wives are putting on quite a show. One that promises to rival the Academy Awards." She squeezed his arm. "It's certainly for a very good cause."
He felt his lips curving at the mention of those rather dynamic women and it sealed his decision. Getting out there was exactly what he needed.
Chapter 12
She arrived at the cabin before him and kept asking herself why she had agreed to the meet. He had ignored her for a week, seven days where she had been in hell. She should get over him, she decided. But it was not that easy.
She had humiliated herself a dozen times already. Almost groveling. He just would not forgive her. She had to live with that. But how it hurt! She was barely sleeping, and her work was suffering. She was a strong, independent black woman who had been to law school and aced all the courses. She had come fifth in her class and had been killing it in Chicago.
She did not need some arrogant farmer who was stringing her along. She would tell him that. Where the hell was he? Dragging up the collar of her jacket, she tapped her foot impatiently on the cobbled stone driveway. It was cold and the place looked creepy with the snow clinging to leafless trees. It was eerily silent and still as a tomb.
She was about to jump back in the car when headlights speared through the darkness.
He parked behind her, and she watched him alight from the vehicle and come towards her. Her heart ached as she stared at him. He was wearing the traditional faded denims and flannel. God, the man looked good in flannel, she thought in despair. His jacket was open all the way as if the cold did not affect him. His hair was disheveled -- the twists and curls that suited his narrow face.
Lifting her chin, she ignored the tremors and the pounding of her heart as he came nearer.
"Sorry, an emergency at the farm." He flicked a gaze over her and smiled. "You could have gone in. The door's never locked."
