Incapable (Love Triumphs 3)

She turned her back to him, stilled to wait for him to take her elbow, but he put both hands across her eyes. “Lean back.”

“What are you doing?” She could see slices of the room through his fingers.

“I’m not dependent on you, Georgia. I should’ve thought tonight might prove that. It was a bad idea for a first date, not that I want to take any of it back, except the part where I was less than honest with you. I’m walking us to the bar. I can get there without your eyes. I can get to the street, to a taxi. I can do all these everyday things, mostly by myself or with limited guidance. You don’t have to nurse me, or care for me, or be the part of me that’s missing. If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t.”

“I wasn’t, I—”

“Well, you should’ve been.” There was that command tone again. “I’m not going to be your average boyfriend. That’s something to come to terms with.” In more ways than he could imagine. “I can sing for a start.”

“Boyfriend? I’m still technically married.”

“But it’s over and you’re here alone and starting again.”

“Yes.” Hamish had started divorce proceedings. There was nothing left between them except sorrow, bitterness and paperwork

“I’d like it to be more than a hook-up. Do you want something different?”

She shook her head, but his hands went with her, masking her vision.

“Then I’m happy to discuss the term used to describe what we’re doing.”

“What are we doing?”

“A drink, a chat with Dalia, blistering kisses, my hands doing rude things to you in the taxi, a debate outside your flat about whether I stay the night.”

She sucked in a breath and he laughed.

“Tomorrow we’re going shopping. Tomorrow night I’m singing at Moon Blink and I’d like you with me. Sunday I’ll take you to dinner. Then I’ll pester you while you’re working, for lunch, for a walk, to be with you wherever you are, and we’ll take it from there. Does that work for you?”

That worked like therapy, but it took simple word choice and made it like trigonometry, too hard to calculate on the spot. She had nothing to say. She nodded and he laughed, the music of it tangling in her hair.

He got them to the bar without tripping or knocking into anyone, but he took her arm immediately it became obvious there were other people close by. He’d proven his point, but he wasn’t stupid about it.

Dalia found them and this time Georgia didn’t back off, didn’t surrender Damon to someone with an older claim. She stayed by his side, her hand in his.

He didn’t embarrass her in the taxi but she sat in the circle of his arm, and unlike the first back seat adventure she didn’t want leap out and abandon him. She wanted the journey to take forever so she could continue to rest her head on his shoulder and have him stroke his thumb across the back of her hand.

When he sent the taxi off she remembered what anxie

ty felt like: duelling chainsaws carving up the lining of her stomach. She wanted Damon’s kisses but she wasn’t ready to let him stay the night.

“I’m not coming in for coffee,” he said. “I want to stay the night.”

What was wrong with her? He was gorgeous and he wanted her, what other criteria did she need met? It was one night, not forever. “I want you to.”

“But?”

She put her hands over his ears like he’d done to her eyes. He heard too much in the silences and the spaces between words. She leaned into him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull his lips to hers.

He fed her mumbled protest back into her mouth between the press of airy kisses, then tucked her face into his shoulder. “I can wait.” His husky, gritty voice made her knees weak.

“Pick you up at eleven? That too early?”

He’d said shopping, but not for what. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere they sell dresses.”

She pulled away to look at him. Dimple, cheeky grin. She didn’t get it. He saw into her silence.