Incapable (Love Triumphs 3)

Hand on the knob. “What?” Hamish had followed her up the hall. She opened the door, shooting him an annoyed look over her shoulder.

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“Just remember I did it for you.”

She looked through the open door. Damon stood there. He wore a fabulously expensive-looking trench coat and held his white stick. His dark hair shone, his blue eyes sparkled, an expression of concern, between his brows, a question on his beautiful lips. “Georgia?”

She slammed the door, a hand flying to her hair, not brushed, wet from the shower. She wore baggy old jeans, a jumper of Hamish’s with holes in it and Uggs.

She rounded on Hamish, ready to kick him. “What did you do?”

“I might’ve had a problem with the days of the week. Let the man in, for goodness sake.”

The bell rang again.

“I don’t want to see him.”

“Class act grovelling. But if you really don’t want to see him, make sure he knows it.”

“He must already know it. I just shut the door on him. Maybe he’ll go away.”

The doorbell rang.

Hamish smirked. “I don’t think he got the message yet. Is he a bit dull?”

They stared at each other. “I don’t want this.”

“Then tell him, Georgie, and I’ll be here with you. It’s the least I can do.”

She really had no option, but her tongue was upside down, there were too many teeth in her mouth and her hands were numb. But you know what, it was okay, she could do this, be civil. Damon should see she was comfortable with Hamish. Had no need of voice actor royalty and his high-flying lifestyle. Never mind he looked incredible. Never mind she was desperate to hear him say more than her name. He took her breath away. Oh my God, he might already have gone.

She flung the door open and the urge to throw herself in his arms was so overwhelming she had to look at her feet to stop from stepping into him.

“Georgia?”

He had a voice, not the same but not a sanding machine, not a metal grater in his throat like before.

“You sound well.” She sounded pissed off and that was useful.

He frowned. “Is it a bad time?”

“Yes. I didn’t agree to this.” She sounded calm and together and that was more practical. He sounded like he’d been drinking, smoking, shouting all night.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he half turned back towards the street. “Hamish said it would be best to call at the house to see you.” His tone and volume were different. There was a hint of just woken up gravel dust. He had a voice, but it wasn’t the one he’d had when they met, and yet it was still impossibly sexy.

Hamish stepped up beside her. “I’m Hamish, do come in, Damon.” He gave Georgia a shove so there was room for Damon to step across the threshold.

Damon’s chin shifted right so he was looking towards Hamish. “Thank you.” He put a hand out in front. Hamish grinned and took it and the two of them shook. She looked at the ceiling rose. Oh this was fun, both of these men had seen her naked. Both of them had rejected her. She closed her eyes. She had no idea where that thought came from, but it made her feel sick.

Damon tapped his way through the doorway into the hall.

Hamish said, “I’ll lead you to the kitchen.”

She could’ve done that. But if she touched Damon, whatever string was holding her insides together would untwist and leave her in pieces. He was tanned and he seemed taller, bigger, more outrageously handsome.

“Why are you here?” She spoke to his back and he stopped moving.

Hamish kept going, “I’ll make the tea.”