Page 62 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series
“Annie, I need you to call me back,” she burst out when Annie’s message service kicked in. “I think I’m going to do something really stupid, something you’re going to hate me for if you don’t call me back.” She stopped. Pulled in a long breath. “Please call. I think…I think I’m in lust with your Australian cowboy.”
She killed the connection with a jab of her thumb, dropped her phone to the bed and stared at the wall.
Guilt coursed through her again. Turned the breath in her lungs to choking pressure. She swallowed. How did she let that happen? One second she was telling herself she was sending Dylan to a hotel and the next she’s kissing him?
Begging him to get naked?
She picked up her phone again.
Annie, she typed into her phone’s messaging app.I know you’re in Australia with Dylan’s family. I’m sure there’s a reason you haven’t called me. I just wanted to let you know I will do everything I can to keep my hands off Dylan. Everything. But girlfriend, it’s going to be HARD.
Hitting send, she fixed her focus on her closed door. What was Dylan doing on the other side of it? Was he still there?
And what did she do if he was?
Hell, what did she do if he wasn’t?
The last thought brought a thick lump to her throat and a stab of pain to her belly. Which made her close her eyes and draw in a long, slow breath.
Annie had been through the meat grinder when it came to guys. The last thing she needed was Monet doing the dirty with the one man she seemed to genuinely connect with.
But what if you genuinely connect with him too? What do you do then?
The question didn’t help Monet’s messed up state of mind at all. She opened her eyes and stared at the door again.
“Go out there, apologize, ask him if he’d like a coffee and then call a cab. That’s what you’re going to do. Got it?”
Simple, straightforward plan of attack. Easy. This should be easy.
Five second later, when she opened the door and found Dylan sitting on her studio sofa, elbows resting on his knees, head hanging down, hat in his hands, she knew it wasn’t easy.
Or straightforward.
Because the second her gaze found him, her heart quickened, her palms prickled and her stomach clenched.
And the second he raised his head and looked at her, a haunted look in his eyes as a rueful smile pulled at one side of his mouth, she knew the likelihood of her calling a taxi was slim.
“I’m sorry.”
His voice played over her fraying nerves, a deep, husky timbre that sent tingles down her spine.
“That was bloody pathetic of me,” he went on, rising to his feet. “I don’t know what came over me.”
I do.Monet wanted to say.The same thing that came over me. Raw, primitive sexual desire.
She didn’t say it, however. She licked her lips and then forced a smile of her own. “It’s my fault. I kissed you first back at the gallery.”
His nostrils flared and she watched his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat. “You did.”
Monet let out a breath as shaky as her smile. “It’s the accent. It does things to me.”
He cocked an eyebrow, the crooked smile stretching a little wider. “All accents? Or just Australian ones?”
She laughed. “All accents. You should see me when I hear a Scottish one.”
“So if I talk to you like Sean Connery…”
Monet burst out laughing at Dylan’s very atrocious Scottish accent.
