Promise Not To Tell(40)

Cabot responded with enthusiasm.

“Oh, yeah.”

He gripped her hips and helped her position herself. But she was suddenly very dry, and when she tried to impale herself on his thick erection, he abruptly tightened his hold, stopping her.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You need a little time.”

She sank her nails into his shoulders. “No, damn it. I’m going to do this.”

“Hush, it’s all right. This isn’t like going to the dentist. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, crap.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. “Shit.”

He eased her off of his still-hard body. “Go take the meds.”

She knelt beside him in the tangled sheets, pulled her nightgown down around herself and tried to analyze her emotions.

“I’m not having a panic attack,” she said. “I’m just disgusted with myself because I was so afraid of having an attack that I couldn’t relax.”

“I get it.” He sat up beside her. “Like I said, it’s okay.”

He leaned forward and brushed his mouth lightly across hers. It was a comforting kiss, a kiss of deep understanding, not an attempt to seduce her.

She was suddenly torn between tears and hysterical giggles.

“A trip to the dentist?” she managed, her voice shaking a little. “Really, that was the best analogy you could come up with?”

He sat back and gave her a wry smile. “Sorry, but it was the first one that came to mind. I’ll try to have something more romantic ready next time.”

“Next time?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She dashed away her tears with the back of her hand. “You really want to go through this again?”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t gotten this close to having sex in months. Of course I want to do it again.”

She glared. “Now you’re teasing me.”

“I am,” he agreed. “But it also happens to be the truth.” He pushed aside the covers and sat up on the side of the bed. “What do you say we both try to get some sleep?”

“All right.” It wasn’t as if there were a lot of other options, she thought wistfully, not now that she had totally killed the mood.

He leaned down, brushed his mouth lightly across hers, and then he was gone.

She listened intently as he went down the hall. He opened his bedroom door but he did not close it again. If she woke up on the wings of another panic attack, he would hear her. He would probably come to check up on her, make sure she took her meds.

But he would not judge her. He knew where she was coming from.

CHAPTER 25

Cabot awoke before dawn with the shattering conviction that he had missed something very important. He paid attention to the sensation. He had relied on the intuitive side of his nature during his time in a war zone and during his career as a cop.

He pushed back the covers, got up and headed for the small guest bathroom to shower and shave.

When he was dressed, he headed down the hall to the kitchen, trying not to make any noise. He smiled at the sight of Virginia’s glasses on the counter.

He was firing up the coffeemaker when Virginia appeared. She was wearing her bathrobe, and her hair was a tangled mass. Her face was flushed from sleep. She looked sexy as hell. He felt his insides stir. He told himself to focus on measuring the coffee into the machine.

“Good morning,” he said.

“What time is it?” she asked

He handed her the glasses. “A little after six.”

“Oh, wow.” Her voice sharpened abruptly. “I never sleep this late.”

He smiled down at the coffeemaker. “Neither do I. But we did have a rough day yesterday.”

She pushed her glasses onto her nose with one finger. “Yes, we did, didn’t we?”

There was a note of surprise or maybe wonder in her voice. He knew she was still trying to come to grips with the events at the Wallerton house and maybe with what had almost happened between them last night. But if she wasn’t going to mention the sleeping arrangements, neither would he. They’d figure it out sooner or later.

“Cabot?”

He looked at her. She visibly steeled herself.

“About last night,” she said.

“We don’t have to talk about it, you know.”

“I know. But I wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

She widened her hands. “For understanding.” She stepped back quickly. “I’d better go take a shower.”

“Sure,” he said.

“Be back in a few minutes,” she said. She turned and started to rush back down the hall.

“Virginia?”

She stopped and swung around with an air of expectation. He got the impression that she was waiting for him to say something important, something meaningful. But he couldn’t be sure, so he played it safe.

“I wanted to ask you about Hannah Brewster’s last painting, the one she did on the wall of her cabin.”

“Oh,” Virginia said. She looked disconcerted for a beat or two but she recovered quickly, composing herself. “What about the painting?”

“In Brewster’s last picture the little girl intended to represent you is carrying a picture book.”