Page 60 of Deadline

He stepped directly in front of her, blocking her view. “Are you going to flinch every time I come near you?”

“I didn’t flinch.”

“Hell you didn’t.”

Her chin went up a fraction, but the trace of defiance was short-lived, and she dropped her gaze to somewhere in the vicinity of the second button of his shirt. “You’re smart enough to understand how awkward this is for me.”

“Because of the near kiss.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question, and she offered no reply, but only continued to stare straight ahead until the silence between them became strained. Finally she looked into his face again.

“Your virtue is safe with me,” he said. “Okay?”

She nodded.

“Okay?” he repeated.

Even though she nodded a second time, he felt that she wasn’t entirely convinced. He certainly wasn’t.

* * *

Hunter and Grant missed the awkward exchange because, as with everything having to do with Dawson, they were fascinated by “his” house.

It was tastefully furnished and had amenities to recommend it, but it lacked the warmth and personality of hers, which had been purchased strictly for her family’s use and was never rented out. Over the years it had accumulated personal keepsakes, family photographs, the marks and scars of living that made a house a home.

However, her sons didn’t seem to miss the hominess. They were enthralled, particularly by the matching set of bunk beds in the upstairs bedroom to which Dawson led them. “Each of you can have a top bunk.”

“Be careful on those ladders,” Amelia cautioned as they started up the rungs.

Grant said, “I wish this was our room all the time.”

Hunter declared that he wished they could live there forever.

Amelia smiled. “Well, before you get the bedcovers wet, come back down and change.”

They climbed down and went to inspect the adjoining bathroom. “There’s a room right across the hall for you,” Dawson said.

“Thanks, but I’ll sleep on one of the lower bunks.”

He shot the beds a dubious glance. “You sure? The other room—”

“No sense in messing up two.”

Although he looked like he wanted to argue further, he didn’t. “Fine. I’m going to get dry. Make yourself comfortable.”

A half hour later and now much more comfortable, she descended the open staircase which was dimly illuminated by night-lights that had been placed on every third tread. She’d towel-dried her hair and changed into the clothes she’d brought with her. In her haste, and in the dark of her utility room, she’d grabbed the first articles her hands had landed on, which turned out to be a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a fleece hoodie. They were mismatched, but she didn’t see what possible difference it made.

When she reached the bottom step, Dawson asked, “Everything all right?”

Her eyes searched the vast great room and spotted him in the semidarkness, sprawled in an easy chair. The lamp at his elbow cast only a faint glow.

“Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “This is the only socket working in this room, and the overhead light is out.”

The overhead light in the kitchen had been turned off. Had it bee

n left on, it would have shed light into the living area. She chose not to remark on that. Nor did she comment on the disappearance of the liquor and pill bottles that had been conspicuously on the kitchen island when they arrived.

“There wasn’t a glass in the bathroom,” she said. “In case the boys wake up in the night and want a drink of water, I came down to get one.”