Page 12 of The Healing Touch (Manwhore #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Becca’s nerves were about to get the best of her.

What the hell just happened out there? She took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to steady herself.

Falling apart wasn’t going to do anything to help her calm down.

He kissed her, sure, but he was Dimitri, and Becca forcefully remembered all the women he’d gone through over the years.

A kiss meant nothing to him. He was just full of alcohol.

That was all it was. An alcoholic induced moment of insanity on both their parts. Best to leave it at that.

Instead of focusing on her very swollen lips, she set about opening boxes.

The first two contained all the paper swag, and she set those aside.

The next three were books. After opening the fourth, she turned her nervousness into full-on anger at Amazon’s printing department.

She’d specifically called them and asked for each title be shipped in its own box, not thrown all together.

And what did they go and do after assuring her otherwise? They threw them all together.

Dimitri had written twenty-three books in a little under four years.

Granted, not all of them were popular, but he had three series that were, and now to have to sort them all out?

He would have called her and pitched a fit if she hadn’t come.

Hell, there was no way he could get this done by himself.

The man had no sense of organization. She was surprised he managed to turn books out so quickly.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. When it came to writing, he was extremely well organized.

The man had spreadsheets detailing everything in each series and book.

Everything else? Toss it and hope it wasn’t important because there would be no finding it later.

So, instead of starting to organize the pre-orders, she began to sort books and stack them on the floor, muttering death threats at the shipping staff over at Amazon.

“What are you doing?”

Becca jumped and flailed backward, trying not to topple the books she’d so painfully organized, when Dimitri’s voice startled her.

Strong hands caught her and yanked her up before she could fall.

Her cheek came into contact with damp, warm skin.

Holy hell. He didn’t have a shirt on. She bit her tongue to keep from tasting him.

“You okay?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. She pushed away from him, keeping her eyes on the floor as she moved back to the boxes. If she refused to look, that was one image that wouldn’t haunt her dreams for a lifetime.

He walked up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the mess on the floor. “Why did you order so many books?”

One, two, three …she counted silently. Take a deep breath and keep your cool.

Don’t let him know how he affects you. “I told you earlier how many pre-orders you had. I took a stab at guessing how many you might need. What you don’t sell, you can pack up and use at the next event. Less for me to have to order.”

“When is the next event?” He leaned farther over her, his very naked chest resting against her back.

Dear God in Heaven, give her strength. “Two weeks. Austin, Texas.” The words were clipped, angrier than she meant them to be, but hell’s bells, did he have to be so close? She couldn’t move. He’d trapped her between the desk and himself.

“You sure you’re okay, Becca?”

“I said I was fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’re trembling, and you’re breathing so hard, you might have just jogged up five flights of stairs?”

She closed her eyes. Damn him.

“Don’t, Dimitri. I am not one of your flavors of the week.”

“I know that, Rebecca.” He turned serious. “Trust me, I know.”

“Then why are you doing this?” The confusion bled out in her words. “Just stop it, please.”

He moved away, and she caught sight of his pained expression out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Learn some control. You’re a grown man, not a three-year-old throwing a fit in Target because your mom wouldn’t let you have the toy you wanted. I’m not a toy.”

“That’s about what I feel like right now.” He let out a low chuckle. “I want what I can’t have.”

She turned to face him, her own ire slowly rising. “Deal with it, D. We have a lot of damn work to do because of the idiots who packed this mess. I don’t have time for your nonsense.” She picked up the paper swag and a silver Sharpie and thrust them at him. “Here. Start signing these.”

“All of them?” He looked from the boxes to her, appalled.

“Yes, all of them.” She took her handy box opener she’d brought along and started to open another box. “I have to sort all these books before I can even start trying to get the pre-orders together.”

“Was there any place open this late that delivered?” He took out the first stack of postcards and started signing.

Shit, this was going to take all damn night.

He needed to do something less mundane to get his mind off the woman whose ass was prominently on display.

She’d put on another one of those long t-shirt things, and every time she bent, he caught a glimpse of baby blue lace.

“I convinced the guy at Pat’s Pizza to take the order. Had to order four to get him to do it, though. They don’t deliver small orders at this time of night.”

“That’s fine. What we don’t eat, we’ll put in the fridge for later.” He’d probably scarf two by himself. Blue lace flashed in his field of vision, and he groaned. “Becca?”

“What?” She was pulling books out of the box she was currently working on.

“Put on some damn pants.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes suddenly twinkling. “Only if you put on a damn shirt.”

Well, now. Maybe he did affect her as much as she did him. He laughed and shook his head, getting up to grab a shirt out of his suitcase. He pulled on a plain white t-shirt and saw Rebecca jumping into some kind of knee-length pajama bottoms. At least they covered her damn ass.

“Better?” she asked once he’d settled himself back on the bed.

He nodded and picked up the Sharpie. “Where did we get a silver Sharpie? Do you just carry them around in your purse or something?”

“Nope.” She sat on the floor this time, facing him. Thank God. If he had to be subjected to her ass one more time, he’d have done something stupid. “I ordered a bunch of Sharpies and had them shipped here. You don’t think I’d send you into the gladiator’s arena without the proper weapons, do you?”

“It can’t be that bad.”

She snorted. “Oh, but it can. You didn’t do your research like I told you to.

These things are huge affairs, readers fighting to get to their favorite authors by the droves.

Lines out the whazoo for some authors. I’m expecting a line for you.

I even coordinated with Sheila to make sure your line wouldn’t hamper the other authors there.

Nothing like pissing off someone because your line blocked their tables. ”

Fair enough. He’d be pissed if that happened to him.

She stuttered her words a bit when she described the crowds, and it bothered him.

He could see how terrified she was. It was written in every muscle.

She tensed up like she was preparing for war.

Maybe the gladiator reference made sense to her.

She was preparing for war—a war with herself and her anxiety.

He did want her to try. Her doctor told her she should try things, but if it was too much, he’d pack up, everyone else be damned.

A knock pounded on the door, and she jumped up to get it. He let her, since she seemed so intent on getting away from him. She couldn’t run for long, though, and that pleased him. He loved a good chase, loved catching his prey, holding them down, and showing them how much they pleased him.

He wanted her. More than he had anyone else.

He admitted it to himself. Now he just had to come to terms with what it meant if he did chase her, if he caught her.

Becca knew him well enough to know he’d never settle down with one woman because he got bored so easily.

He’d love to promise her otherwise, but he knew himself as well as she did. He’d get bored and hurt her.

Was he willing to risk that? Every part of him that loved her said no, but the predator in him said hell, yes. He wanted her, friendship be damned.

She came back carrying four pizza boxes, a two liter of Coke, and some plates and cups. “I ordered you your nasty banana peppers and anchovies, so don’t touch mine.”

“Mushrooms, bacon, and spicy Italian sausage.”

She flashed him a smile. “You remember that?”

“You remember how I like my pizza.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been on the phone with you enough while you’re eating it that it’s burned into my memory. I think I might have ordered pizza once while talking to you.”

“I have an excellent memory.” Actually, he didn’t.

That was why he kept such detailed spreadsheets about his books.

He knew if he didn’t, he’d screw storylines up.

He barely remembered his own family’s birthdays, but with Rebecca, he always remembered things.

From her favorite flower, which he sent her every year on her birthday, to how she ordered her pizza.

He frowned, contemplating that. It was odd.

Why did he remember the smallest facts about her, things she may have only said in passing, like how she loved the old movie If A Man Answers ?

They’d been talking about movies, and she’d told him it was one of her favorites.

He’d found it and sent it to her for Christmas a few years ago.

Babby would tell him why. He could hear his grandmother’s voice cackling in his head, but he refused to admit it. The old woman would be enjoying this whole mess.

The pizza box landing on his lap startled him out of his strange thoughts. He took the plate and the full cup of pop she gave him. “Thank you.”