Murphy's Law

“Sweetheart?” Garrett said thickly.

His eyes had darkened to a brilliant shade of blue. Murphy lost herself in them. “Yes?”

“You're kneeling on my bad leg.”

Her eyes widened and a blush warmed her cheeks. So intent had she been with the f

eel of his mouth on hers, the intoxicating way his spicy male scent flooded her senses, she hadn't noticed that when she'd leaned toward him, her knee had come down directly on his outer right thigh. While she'd seen for herself that his wound was well on its way to healing, it had only been three weeks, it must still be sore.

Straightening, she mumbled an embarrassed apology and slid to her side of the couch. The two feet of lightly flowered upholstery separating Garrett's hip from hers—neither of which were clad in much—felt like it extended for an eternity.

Her attention shifted, focusing on a speck of something on the floor near the entertainment center. She frowned, pulling it into focus. It was an allergy capsules.

She remembered now that Garrett had never taken the two she'd placed on the tray for him. Why not? In fact, now that she thought about it, when Moonshine had tackled him in the hallway, and again when Garrett had shooed the cat out of the bedroom, were the only times she remembered him sneezing or sniffling since entering her apartment. For a man allergic to cats, that was peculiar.

Murphy glanced up, only to see Garrett watching her intently. The smile that curled over his lips reached his eyes, making the irises shimmered an arresting shade of midnight blue in the glow of dusky sunlight.

“I thought you were allergic to cats,” she said, and noticed that Moonshine, still sitting at Garrett's feet, cocked his head as though he was also interested in an explanation.

“I am.”

As explanations went, that one was lacking. Murphy decided to probe a bit deeper. “Then why aren't you sneezing? Why aren't your eyes more red and watery? Why are you—?”

“Trying to make inane conversation?” Garrett asked, cutting her short. “And I'm talking about you, sweetheart, not me.”

Murphy frowned. “I'm not.”

“Aren't you?”

“No, I…” What had she been trying to do? Damned if she knew! The second her gaze met Garrett's, Murphy's train of thought scattered like dust. “I-I was just concerned, is all.”

“No need to be. The problem's been taken care of.” Garrett hesitated, sighed. “Well, no, that's not exactly true. Let's just say the problem is being taken care of.”

“How vague.”

His sandy eyebrows rose and fell. “I know. Purposely vague. I've got an ulterior motive.”

“You do?” she asked cautiously.

Garrett nodded. His silence made it clear he'd no intention of sharing whatever that motive was.

Was he waiting for her to prod him? Although she'd rather pretend she didn't care, Murphy knew she did. “Okay, I give up. What's the deal? And there is a deal in there somewhere,” she added before he could say anything. “I can tell by that glint in your eyes. You want something from me, don't you, Garrett Thayer?”

Garrett's gaze raked her from head to toe. The glint in his eyes said he liked seeing her body wrapped in one of his shirts. By the time their gazes again locked, the blood pumping hot and fast through Murphy's veins was tingling.

His voice, when it came, was low and husky. “Oh yeah, I want something from you. In fact, I want…” he sucked in a sharp breath, paused. It was clear when he continued that what he said wasn't what he'd originally planned. “I want to know what happened with your job. Did you quit?”

“Why do you want to know?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“My turn to be concerned,” he said, repeating her earlier words, his soft tone echoing the same sentiment.

Murphy felt a thrill washed over her. This time, instead of trying to analyze her reaction, she accepted it. In her whole life, the only person who'd ever been truly been concerned about her was Tom. It was a foreign yet wonderful feeling to have Garrett express the same emotion. It was also a bit frightening. “I showed up at my office on the Monday morning after they took you to Bangor, if that's what you're asking.”

“That's not what I was asking, and you damn well know it.” His expression tightened with impatience, but he seemed able to reign the emotion in quickly. “All right, sweetheart, I'll rephrase the question. When you showed up for work that Monday, was it to hand in your resignation? Tell me that, I'll tell you why I'm not sneezing.”

Murphy hesitated for only a beat before nodding. Inwardly, she groaned. When had she come to know this man as well as he'd come to know her? She couldn't pinpoint a precise time, but the evolution must have occurred at some point…because she'd an uneasy feeling she knew exactly what Garrett's next question was going to be. And she was right.

“So you did? Turn in your resignation, that is?”