Her Reason To Stay. Anna Adams

last he met her eyes. “Raina wants you to stay with her.”

      “I thought she and I talked this out.”

      “She knows this place, and she’s worried you might not be safe.”

      “So she sent her mouthpiece again?”

      “She always assumes people listen to me because she does.”

      “And you did manage to stop me from leaving this morning.” She said it just to see how he’d react. Was the same half-unwelcome attraction bothering him?

      He ignored her comment. “If Raina had any idea what this place was really like, she’d lobby city hall to tear it down.”

      “I’m fine here.”

      He shrugged, “give me a break” written all over his face. Daphne shook her head, feeling her skin flush.

      “I appreciate that you’re both concerned, but I wish she’d stop sending you after me.” In the silence, she waited for him to leave. He stood still. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “You can tell Raina.”

      Again, he ignored her jab. “I’d call the biohazard team if the town had one,” he said, still eyeing her. He gave a wry smile.

      Against her will, she smiled, too. “You’re a funny guy.” She moved away from him, trying to escape the seduction of his nearness. “But I’m not living off Raina.”

      “Come work for me. I’ll pay you enough to get you out of here.”

      “Is that another one of Raina’s ideas?” She wanted to know about him—why he was so willing to drop everything for Raina. Did he have romantic feelings for her? Was that why he was working so hard to make friends with her? Even giving her a way of supporting herself so she could stay in Honesty.

      Daphne reminded herself she was trying to live her life a new way, without bitterness or resentment. “I’ll find a job,” she said. “You and Raina don’t have to worry about me.”

      “Why not give my firm a chance?” He caught her arm, as he had that afternoon. She stilled, aware of the heat and heaviness of his hand. “We always need word processing,” he continued.

      He must not know about her criminology degree or those golden days when her skills had been in demand.

      With her free hand, she rubbed her mouth, suddenly thirsty as she remembered the despair of the postacquittal years. She’d never totally managed to drown her sorrow in one bottle after another, but her efforts had nearly destroyed her life.

      “What?” A frown etched two small lines into Patrick’s forehead. “I don’t doubt you’re capable.” His gaze dropped down her body as if he were brushing fingertips over her skin. Daphne wanted to step behind a barrier, because her breathing and her breasts and her heartbeat had all reacted to his glance.

      “What am I doing here?” he asked, his own voice tight.

      “That’s a good question.”

      He let her go and stared at his hands as if he’d betrayed himself. “This is your sister’s problem. She should have come herself.”

      “You’ve done what Raina asked.” Seeing his obvious distress, she took pity on him. “Besides, I don’t know anything about computers. I’ve never owned one, so I couldn’t do your word processing.”

      In the way of amateurs everywhere, she’d gone one lie too many. His skeptical grimace made her laugh with some relief.

      “Did I go too far?” she asked.

      “Who hasn’t used a computer these days?” He touched her hair. The mere heat of his body drew her. She wanted to move closer, so she glued her feet to the floor.

      “What did you do before?” he asked.

      “Nothing,” she said as the past unrolled like film in front of her eyes, the blood, the pain and the disappointment that hurt more than a physical slap. She stepped back, afraid that her memories might somehow leap into Patrick’s head. “I searched for Raina. Shouldn’t you go now?”

      “I want to know,” he said, unmoving, but obviously not unmoved. The sympathy in his eyes was more than she could bear.

      Something had happened between Patrick Gannon and her. Feelings that ran too deep considering their short duration. “Should we trade?” she asked. “I’ll tell you personal things about myself if you do the same.”

      He backed away, reaching the door with no haste, but sending a message of rejection in his frozen glance. The room fell away behind her.

      “Your way may be right,” he said. “I had no right to pry. We don’t know each other, but I forgot that.”

      And she forgot to breathe. In that moment, she sensed that if she made a move, he would stay. And they’d start exploring their feelings for each other.

      So she remained still. Patrick opened the door. “I’m late picking up my son.”

      “Your what?”

      He was married? Leave it to her to choose a married guy. No wonder her inner alarm had been clanging with such urgency. Almost a full year in AA, and she still wanted to do things that were bad for her, such as letting Patrick matter.

      “My son.”

      “You’re married? I thought you and Raina might be…”

      “No,” he said with enough emphasis to make it clear he’d denied the suggestion before. “I’m her friend. I’m also divorced.” Rage vibrated in his tone. Before she had time to ask why, he reached for the door. “Daphne, this chain is a toy. At least get yourself moved to another room.”

      “I will.” She’d followed like some kid, anxious for a last glance.

      Patrick’s scent wafted around her. His skin carried a memory of outdoors and spice. Too much aching intimacy had no place between strangers.

      He looked at his watch, accidentally exposing the too-fast beat of his pulse in a vein on the underside of his wrist. “I have to get my son,” he said again.

      She nodded, taking the hint of a second reminder. He was trying to put the boy between them, and she was glad to let him.

      He crossed the sidewalk to the parking lot. “You should give Raina a call. She might be right about this place.”

      Daphne noticed his matter-of-fact tone. Maybe her feelings were coloring the way she looked at him. She knew how to resist. She’d had some problems, a major one with whiskey, but men with eyes like ice and bodies like sin had never been an addiction.

      “Thanks for the advice.”

      A chill April wind blew through the open door. Bits of paper whispered across the parking lot.

      Beneath the streetlights, his shiny car stood out from the dull vehicles around it. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, struggling against an insistent need to call him back.

      Patrick opened his car door. “Get moved to a different room.”

      She patted her back pocket for her key card. “Yeah.” She shut her door and made a beeline for the window shielded by a smudged curtain and a white sign that dripped the word Office in black.

      Only several moments after he’d turned the car in a wide, swift circle, without looking at her, did she move away from her lookout position.

      THE NEXT MORNING, the college student on duty behind the counter at Cosmic Grounds came to Daphne’s table and passed her a red Sharpie. Smiling shyly, he said, “I found this for you.”

      “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He was already gone, the back of his neck shiny red.

      She ducked her head and returned to the classifieds of the Honesty Sentinel.

      Fortified by a cup