“Fine.” He stuffed the bread into his mouth and concentrated on chewing the hell out of it.
She eyed his half-empty mug. “I’ll get you some more coffee.”
Kit raised his hand, intending to stop her, but she was already at the range, coffeepot in hand. Why didn’t she leave? She was acting skittish enough, so he knew she was nervous. He could grab her and kiss her. That ought to send her running, except he knew if he touched her, he’d lose his finely held control and then never get near her again.
She refilled his mug and put the coffee back. “Well, I guess I’ll go upstairs.”
Thank God!
“Do you need anything else?”
Don’t say it, his conscience warned. Kit swallowed his first answer. “No, I’m fine.” His voice cracked, and he held his breath.
“Oh. Well, I’ll see you upstairs?”
He didn’t look at her. He just nodded, and when he heard the door close, expelled his breath and sagged against the chair. His food rolled around his belly like a cannonball. Kit tossed his fork on the table, knowing he couldn’t touch another bite. His consuming hunger had nothing to do with food.
A door closed in the room above him. Hallie was in their bedroom. He sat looking at the ceiling and listening to the sounds she made. She kicked off her slippers. He could hear them thud lightly on the wooden floor, and then she padded across the room. She stood in the middle of the room above, right next to where he knew the bed sat. The bed creaked softly, and Kit envisioned Hallie cloaked in a fine veil of hair and sitting on the edge of the bed, right where he wanted her. He closed his eyes and groaned.
He pacified himself with the knowledge that before long she’d be asleep, and then he could go up without worrying about this intense desire. If he gave in to it, the way he felt right now, he would probably scare her to death, and then he would never get near her. No, what he needed was patience and timing. He would wait.
It was quiet up there, and Kit took a deep, relaxing breath. Not long, he thought. He picked up his plate. The stew was cold and the meat juices were starting to congeal. He put the bread on top of the stew, covering it so he didn’t have to look at it.
Not much longer.
Picking up the coffee, Kit sipped it, and then he heard her. His gaze shot upward as the sound of her pacing seeped down from above. He groaned and waited. The pacing continued. What the hell was she doing? Maybe she couldn’t sleep; it was a possibility, even if the steps pattered with the beat of impatience.
He stood and carried the plate toward the waste barrel while the pacing continued. No, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief, she wouldn’t be waiting for him, would she?
Ah damn, she was. Kit changed directions and headed for the back door. He flung it open and heaved the plate into the backyard. It was a stupid and rash act that did nothing more than make him feel good, for about two seconds.
He slammed the door so hard the wall screamed, and he walked in the middle of the kitchen and stood, glowering at the ceiling.
Hallie rushed into the room, and at the sight of him, skidded to a stop. Her hand grasped her robe and she said, “Oh! I thought you’d left!”
Kit looked at her, then glanced at the door, then looked at her again. She was panting, he assumed from running down the stairs so fast. Why should she care if he’d gone? Why was she being so... agreeable?
She wants something, he decided. That was why she was buttering his bread, serving him coffee, and waiting up for him...
He crossed his arms. “What do you want, Hallie?”
She shifted from one bare foot to the other. “Want?”
“Yes, want. All this sudden wifely care must be for a reason.”
She shifted again and nodded.
“What do you want?”
She bit her lip in hesitation.
Growing impatient, he prodded, “Fallen out of any trees lately?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she took her belligerent stance. “Crawled into any strange beds, lately?”
They squared off.
“It was not a strange bed. It was my own bed.”
