Page 82 of The Search

“But you protected him.”

She opened her eyes as she felt his handkerchief touch her cheek. “What are you doing?”

“You’re crying.” He wiped her tears and then handed her the handkerchief. “Why do women always cry when they’re happy? It doesn’t make sense.” He went over to the sink. “And it’s disconcerting as hell.”

“Why?”

“Tears are a sign of sorrow, and it’s primitive instinct for a man to try to heal sorrow in a woman.” He was returning to her carrying a damp dish towel. “It messes up our minds when there’s no sorrow to heal. Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding.” He took her right hand and gently dabbed her bruised knuckles with the towel. “And that’s a wound I can heal.”

“It’s barely a—”

“Hush. You’ve got a wicked right hook. Where did you learn it?”

“Ray Dawson.”

“Who’s Ray Dawson?”

“He’s a fireman, one of my EMT instructors. He said that in natural disasters or tragedies people sometimes go crazy. Looters, relatives of people you can’t manage to save. You have to be able to protect yourself.”

“I can see that.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the bruised knuckles. “To make it better. Not scientific, but it satisfies my primitive instinct.” He rose to his feet. “I have to call Margaret and make sure that she gets a man out to ATF headquarters right away. Anything else I can do for you?”

She shook her head.

“Sure? Dragons to slay? A diamond tiara?”

“You’ve done enough. Thank you.”

“Enough for you, but what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I like this. It makes me feel ten feet tall making you look like you do right now. I think it may be addictive.”

She swallowed. “You’ll get over it.”

“I’m not sure. We’ll see.” He pulled out his phone. “But evidently it’s making you uneasy, so I’ll go outside and make my call.”

As soon as he walked out the door, she released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Christ, she was actually shaking. The last thirty minutes had been too charged with emotion: anger, relief, bewilderment, joy.

And lust.

Don’t dodge it. It was lust she had felt, lust for Logan. Strong and hot and basic.

He had felt it too.

But he hadn’t pushed. He had stepped back and turned away.

And she had been disappointed. Stupid. God, that was stupid. A sexual involvement was the last thing she needed with a man like Logan. He was too strong and dominant and would interfere with her life.

But why would he interfere? They could be just ships that pass in the night. There was no way he would want any kind of commitment. She was really nothing to him.

Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about him.

She got to her feet and moved toward the back porch. Monty was lying next to Maggie as usual but looked up and lazily wagged his tail.