Page 8 of The Healing Touch (Manwhore #3)

“Italian still trumps Chinese. I never conceded that.”

“I like Italian as much as the next person, but Chinese is my favorite. Recently, I’ve started eating Indian food. Have you had it?”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “Nope, never tried it. I’ll stick with American and Italian, thank you. Last time I had Chinese, I was sick for a week. It doesn’t agree with me.”

“You are such a wuss when it comes to trying new food.” She laughed at the disgusted look he threw at her. “You have the stomach of an eighty-year-old man, overly sensitive to foreign spices, and you get the runs faster than if you’d consumed a whole bottle of laxative.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

Oh, crap, she’d forgotten about his blowout at a speaking event he’d gone to last year.

Four hours in the hotel bathroom. He’d only gotten through about half of his speech before he’d run off stage.

What was it he’d eaten? Something Irish, or was it duck?

Tweets and memes of him running still floated around social media occasionally.

She bent over laughing, remembering how his voice squeaked over the phone when he called to confess what happened so she could explain it to the host, but God, it had been hilarious.

Not so much when she realized he’d called her while sitting on the toilet, but still, she laughed as much then as she was now.

“You are a sick, twisted woman.”

She laughed harder. Dear God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like this.

“Just you wait, Rebecca Joyce. Payback is always a bitch.”

She’d probably end up with the runs so bad, she wouldn’t leave the bathroom for days, but she didn’t care. Seeing his face flame up was worth it.

“What should I expect at this signing thingy?” She continued to laugh at his very obvious attempt to change the subject.

“Did you read through all the emails the event coordinator sent out?”

“Um, no?”

“What about the ones I sent you?” He had to have read at least hers. She’d sent him dozens on the subject of his summer event tour.

“That would be a no again.”

“Are you serious?” She wanted to smack him but refrained only because he was driving. When they stopped for gas, she just might. Sometimes he really didn’t pay her enough to deal with him.

“It was the last thing on my mind until I got that pop-up reminder that I needed to be at the airport yesterday.”

“And you showed up at my door like a pissed prissy princess demanding she get her own way or she’d have a meltdown.”

“This prissy princess did get her own way.” He flashed her a sassy smile.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“It’s why you love me.”

God’s truth, there. She did love him because of his outrageous behavior.

“Have you ever talked to any of your author friends about their own signings?” She pulled the subject back around to safer subjects. Dwelling too long on her feelings for the man beside her would bring nothing good for either of them.

“Yeah, it’s why I originally wanted to do them.” He reached over and flipped the radio. The station they’d been listening to went to static. “Dammit, why is the only channel that comes in country?”

“There’s nothing wrong with country music.”

“Yes, there is.” He turned the radio off. “It’s all whiny music about losing everything.”

She swatted his hand away and turned it back on. The Jeep was flooded with the sound of Luke Combs’ Hurricane , a song she loved. “Just listen to this. It’s one of my favorites.”

“You like country?” He sounded offended to even have to say the word. W ell, Mr. Asshole, let’s see how you like listening to nothing but country the rest of this trip.

“Country music will give you a song for every mood. All you have to do is listen. It tells a story in a way most other music can’t. The lyrics are honest and raw. Yeah, there are some whiny ones, but the bulk of it is beautiful.”

“Where did my Becca go, and who are you?”

She flipped him off. “Don’t be a music racist.”

“Then act like a grownup and listen to decent music.”

“Shut the hell up and pay attention the road.” His thumb inched toward the channel changer on the steering wheel. “Try it, and you’ll be missing a thumb.”

“Can I at least turn it down?”

“Sure, but not so low I can’t hear it.”

Dimitri bit back his smile. He loved riling Becca up. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Seeing her like this in person was hands down better than laughing at her over the phone or her silly text messages.

“You do realize once we finally get to the hotel, we aren’t getting any sleep?”

“Why’s that?” His mind went to her in the shower, soap running down her shoulders, over her nice, firm ass, down her legs. Her head thrown back, relaxing after a long drive, the heat driving the tension from her muscles. He could make them tense up in a whole different way.

“You’ll be signing a hundred and sixty pre-orders.”

His fantasy screeched to a grinding halt. “What the fuck?”

“It’s why I scheduled to you to arrive a day early. So you’d have time to put together the swag bags, sign all your shit, and then set up your pre-orders. Signings aren’t all rainbows and unicorns, D. They’re a lot of work.”

“And you thought I was gonna do all that by myself?” His brow furrowed in consternation. No way in hell could he have gotten all that done.

“It’s for your fans. So, yeah, I know you would have done all that by yourself. Besides, I figured you’d have your flavor of the week with you and they would have helped out.”

“Nobody touches my shit but you, Becca. You know this. I wouldn’t have let anyone else near it.” He would have done it all and been grouchy as fuck the next day. “What did you order, anyway, and where is it? I didn’t get anything from UPS.”

“I had it all sent to the hotel to be held until you got there. I ordered some keychains, dog tags, charm bracelets, tons of paper swag, totes, and a gift basket I put together at home and mailed out to the hotel myself for the giveaway you donated to.”

“What giveaway?”

“You really didn’t read any of those emails, did you?”

He shrugged, unrepentant. His frustration with his physical therapy had been the only thing he’d focused on for months. He’d even missed his deadline twice for the new novel. Hard to focus on writing a happily-ever-after when he was depressed and angry all the damn time.

“I meant it when I said there was a good chunk of ticket sales from your fans coming to meet you. It says a lot when you have a hundred and sixty people pre-order your books to make sure they get a copy. They’re stoked to see you.

Have you looked at your author page or checked out the event group page on Facebook? ”

No, he hadn’t. The event had slipped his mind altogether until that reminder in Outlook had shocked the hell out of him and he panicked.

He knew his books were popular, but most of his money came from the stock he’d invested in Nikoli’s gaming company.

It allowed him to write and not to worry about running out of money.

He’d worked damn hard on his success as an author, but he never really paid attention to the actual numbers.

His accountant probably did, but knowing that many people wanted his books and were willing to come stand in line to see him?

It floored him. Almost as much as seeing Becca’s ass this morning. Almost.

“If all they wanted to was to get a photo with you, they wouldn’t have spent their money on a signed copy of your books. They’d just stop by the table and ask for a photo. Do you understand what I’m saying, Dimitri?”

She wanted him to admit that they were coming because they loved his books and not his looks.

He still didn’t buy it. Too many women threw themselves at him first for his looks and then for his money.

It would take a lot more than her tossing numbers at him to make him believe his words actually meant something to others.

“Don’t you read your reviews?”

He learned long ago to stay away from reviews because once he started, he read them all, including the spiteful one-star reviews.

Best to keep the temptation away. He’d been so excited when the first book he’d ever written was released.

He stalked Amazon waiting for the reviews to start rolling in.

When the first one and two stars started to trickle in, they’d put him in a corner, licking his wounds while devouring pints of cookies and cream ice cream.

He’d spent six hours at the gym trying to work through his anger and frustration and burn off all that ice cream. Now, he just stayed away from reviews.

“No.”

“Well, one of the things we’re doing this weekend is looking at some of them. You need to understand how much people really do love your work.”

One of the things I’d like to do this weekend is bend you over the bed and fuck you so hard, you’ll remember it for a week , he thought darkly as they crossed the Virginia state line.

He listened absently as she gave him the rundown on the weekend’s event from table set-up to photo ops and lunch schedules.

She went on about what to expect from the people coming to greet him as they drove through Virginia.

The sound of her voice soothed some of his anger.

That was why he called her late at night when his depression was about to take him to dark and dangerous places.

She always managed to shine a bit of light into the darkness surrounding him, enough to keep him afloat.