“So you’ve said. No need to rehash it.”
He tugged his crooked tie into place, rolled his shoulders, shifted his weight. After several moments of awkward silence, he asked, “Where’s Dennis?”
“Home by now, I suppose.”
“Your home?”
“His home.”
“Huh. Short visit.”
“He only came here to see for himself that I was all right.”
He made a derisive sound. “You’re nearly gunned down, he rushes to your rescue, wild with worry, three days later.”
She smiled. “You made rather obvious your aversion to him.”
“What gave me away?”
“You stormed off without a word to anyone.”
He looked angry, then chagrined, then angry again. “He sailed in and acted like he owned you.”
“He hugged me.”
“He held you.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Where he put his hands.”
“He and I were together for a long time. We’re familiar.”
“He’s familiar, reasonable, and refined. But I’ve got a caveman mentality. When he put his hands on you, I wanted to rip out his throat. Mine are the only hands I want touching you.”
“You don’t have a claim.”
His eyes narrowed. “I kinda do.” He started walking toward her, and for each step forward he took, she took one back until she came up against her desk. “That unreasonable, unrefined fuck on your sofa gave me a claim.”
The rumble of his voice, and the words themselves, caused her heartbeat to accelerate, and, while she knew she should stop this, she couldn’t bring herself to.
By now he had her trapped against her desk, his wide chest filling her field of vision, his scent, his raw, unpolished maleness, wreaking havoc on her.
“This plan to ‘cancel it,’” he said, “how’s that working for you?”
“Not very well.”
He placed the heels of his hands on her hip bones and curved his fingers around her bottom. “For me either.”
In a hushed voice, she said, “I wish I still had it to look forward to.”
His eyes searched hers. “Do you remember it the way I do?”
“How do you remember it?”
“To tell you, I’d have to get really graphic.”
“Blushing terms?”
“Gutter terms.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Wanna hear how tight you were?”
She closed her eyes momentarily. “Crawford.”
“Sorry. I know. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong everything.” He exhaled a gust of frustration, removed his hands, and backed away. “So wrong we can’t even talk about it. But at least I got you to call me by my first name.”
She moved away from the desk so she wouldn’t be tempted to pull him back to her. “Last night you told me good-bye.”
“I meant it. Last night.”
“It’s the right decision, Crawford.”
“It’s the only decision. For both of us. Except…” He looked her in the eye, sighed, muttered a swear word. “Except, if that one time with you was going to be the only time, I wish I’d taken it slow.”
She ducked her head and sensed that he, too, looked away.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “We’ve got business to talk about. Does the name Otterman mean anything to you?”
“Chuck?”
His head went back with surprise. “Chuck? You know him?”
“Of course.”
“Why ‘of course’? Have you locked horns?”
“Not at all. In fact, just the opposite. He’s a supporter. He’s contributed to my campaign.”
He looked at her with bafflement, then laughed, then dragged his hand down his face. “Oh, that’s beautiful. It’ll give Neal a woody.”
“Why?”
“Doesn’t matter. Private joke.” His hand dropped to his side in an attitude of defeat. “Why’d you need to see me?”
“Sit down.” She indicated a chair facing her desk.
He looked at her incisively. “No, this sounds like news I’d rather hear while standing.”
“It’s bad.”
“That’s the only kind of news I’ve been getting lately. Let’s have it.”
The blow couldn’t be softened. She didn’t even try. “Joe Gilroy has filed for a temporary restraining order against you.”
For several seconds he looked at her as though she’d spoken in a foreign language, then he tilted his head in misapprehension. Finally, when he’d fully processed what she’d told him, his facial features tightened with rage. Through his teeth, he hissed, “Son of a bitch.” He turned and started for the door.
Holly, anticipating just such a reaction, beat him to it, placing herself between him and the door and pressing her hands flat against his chest. “Crawford, think! If you blaze over there and confront him, you’ll be doing just as he wants you to. He’ll call the police, and it will be written up as a domestic disturbance.”
“Another entry to my file. That stinking, fucking file.”
“Exactly! You’ll be playing right into his hands, making his case for him. Is that what you want?”