Page 77 of Pressure Head

“I let myself out. Nothing wrong with me a bit of bed rest won’t cure.”

“I didn’t think it wasrestyou had on your mind. Bed, yeah, but—” The end of my sentence was swallowed as he kissed me.

Soon things were getting nicely out of hand. Phil’s sweater lay crumpled on the hall carpet, and my jeans were undone and with one of his hands shoved inside. But just about then, my brain finally woke up and reminded me I had a couple of unanswered questions.

“Wait a minute,” I said, pushing Phil off me—or trying to; it was like trying to move a mountain. A big, blond, horny mountain. “Oi, gerroff, will you?”

“What?” He backed off about a millimetre and stood there, face flushed, breathing hard.

Gazing into those darkened eyes, it was a bit of a struggle to remember what I’d wanted to ask him. “I just— What is all this, all right? You and me. Is it about me being able to find stuff for you, or you feeling guilty about my hip, or what?”

“Does it matter right now?”

I had to look away. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it does.”

Strong fingers took hold of my chin and gently turned my face back towards him. “I’m not going to lie to you. The way I feel about you—it’s complicated.” His thumb stroked my cheek in a soothing rhythm, and he smiled suddenly. “Doesn’t help when you go around saving my life either.”

“Why didn’t you call me before you went out there?” I asked, because that had been bugging me worst of all. “Decided you didn’t need me anymore?”

“No, you twat. I was going to confront a bloody murderer, wasn’t I? Why the hell would I want you putting yourself in danger?” Phil’s gaze darted down to my bandaged arm. “Christ, when I saw he was about to shoot you, and you just bloody stood there . . .” He broke off and took a couple of deep breaths.

I slid my arms around his waist and pulled him close to me again. Someday soon, we were going to have to have words about this obsession of his with protecting me.

But for now, I reckoned I had all the answers I needed.