“It’s true. You did lay down your bike and you did scoop that boy up and run to get him out of the path of the truck,” Seychelle pointed out. She didn’t want him to ever forget that he had saved that child. He would have given his life for that boy.
“And you shoved us both out of the way and took the hit,” Savage said, his fingers suddenly gripping her calf like a vise.
He tilted his head back to look up at her, his glacier-blue eyes meeting hers, focusing completely on her in that way he had. He made her feel that he saw only her—that only she mattered to him. Her stomach did a slow somersault. Seychelle knew she was extremely susceptible to him, the need for him so deep, so physical, she knew she would have to guard her heart carefully if she was around him for even the briefest of times.
The moment she was near him, the craving for him seemed to grow. Now, knowing that he did for her what no one else in the world had ever done, what maybe no one else ever could do, added an extra layer of need to her addiction to him. He gave back to her. He nurtured her. And he had that draw of darkness in him that her body responded to. That was doubly dangerous to her.
At once, Doris’s entire demeanor changed. She looked much older, the lines in her face deepening. “Seychelle.” Doris breathed her name. “You were hit by a truck? Were you hurt? You never said a word to any of us.” She put down the teacup, because her hands shook so badly she’d spilled some of the contents. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, honey. You should have told me. This is terrible.”
Savage began his slow massage again, up and down Seychelle’s leg, from ankle to knee, his palm sliding over the raised scars. “Didn’t mean to upset you, Doris. She’s just fine. That’s how we met and how she became my fiancée. Right then.”
Seychelle could have kissed him. He knew exactly what to say to distract Doris.
“Fake fiancée, Doris,” she reminded.
“Why fake, Seychelle?” Doris asked. “He seems like quite a catch, and you’re not getting any younger. You run off anyone in the least interested in you.”
“He’s bossy. Really, really bossy,” Seychelle pointed out. “You have no idea how bossy he can be.”
Savage turned his head alertly toward Doris. “She have quite a few men interested?”
Doris nodded vigorously. “There’s not a lot of women that look like Seychelle in town. She’s a real looker and so sweet too. She walks down the street, and the next thing you know, they’re coming out of the woodwork.”
“Seriously? Just stop, Doris, we were talking about Savage, not me,” Seychelle said, but she couldn’t help laughing. How did he do that? One minute all the teasing was about him and the next the spotlight was on her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s eating all your cookies and I can guarantee he won’t gain an ounce of weight. Not one single ounce. I had two cookies and I’m going to have to jog for miles to keep from gaining ten pounds.”
“I like that you’re not a stick, woman.” Savage sounded exasperated. “And I don’t think you ate while you were away. You lost at least three pounds.”
She had, but he couldn’t know that. She made a face at him, and he grinned at her and then toed the toolbox.
“What’s in that thing?”
“Tools, and don’t make fun of my toolbox.”
He leaned toward it, his hand slipping off her leg, leaving her feeling deprived. It was strange how much she found she had missed him. Not just verbally sparring with him, but his touch. She narrowed her eyes at him as he gingerly opened the toolbox as if it might bite him.
“Babe.” One word. He looked up at her. “Really? What the fuck is this supposed to be?” He pulled out one of her favorite tools.
The handle was pink. She really liked it, not only because it fit nicely in her hand but because of the way the rubber felt. “It’s a hammer, you moron. A perfectly good hammer. Since clearly you aren’t in the least familiar with tools, I can go over them for you, name them and their uses if you’d like.”
“Doris, you may need to put your hands over your ears and eyes for a minute so you can’t testify in court.”
“Oh dear, are you going to threaten her?”
“I do want to strangle her occasionally,” Savage admitted, “but right now, I thought pulling her across my knees and paddling her sweet little ass would give me more satisfaction. Unfortunately, the snoop across the street is staring at us with a pair of binoculars, and she’d definitely call the cops on me.”