“Gone,” he assured her, and her shoulders sagged with relief.
“Hopefully for good,” she muttered, still unsure if she’d made the right call. Still worried about what would happen to them if she hadn’t.
His rugged face softened. “Mercy is never the wrong move, Sabrina.”
She gave him a weary nod but couldn’t keep the skepticism from her expression.
“It’s been a helluva couple of days.” Boss rapped his knuckles on the table and then pushed to a stand. “I need my kids, my wife, and a large meat lovers’ pizza.” He offered Becky his hand. “Take me home, Goose, or lose me forever.”
And that was that.
The room broke into motion, chairs scraping, conversations starting and stopping as goodbyes were said. Those who lived off-site headed for the exit, and those who didn’t scattered into other parts of the building.
Which left…Hew.
He was finally looking at her, although his expression was unreadable.
If the Guinness Book of World Records ever decides to open up a category for Best Poker Face, Hewitt Birch is a shoo-in, she thought irritably.
She had just convinced herself to grin and bear it, to suck it up and let things go back to the way they were pre-multiple orgasms. But screw that.
She needed more than his taciturn expressions and vague commentary. She needed answers. Actual words. The unvarnished truth straight out of his mouth.
Only then would she be able to bury her feelings deep and pave over them.
Her fingers twisted together beneath the table. But above the table, she firmed her chin and blurted, “Can we talk?”
35
Hew wanted to roar. He wanted to rage. He wanted to stomp around like a gorilla and beat his chest. But he made sure his expression was devoid of that when he lifted an eyebrow and said, “About what?”
“About what happened between us earlier.” Sabrina’s tone was the equivalent of well, duh.
He carefully slipped his hands beneath the conference table so she wouldn’t see him curl his fingers into fists. “Thought we covered that already. Mission accomplished. That’s what ya said, right?”
“That’s what you said,” she countered quickly.
He tipped his head. “You tellin’ me the mission wasn’t accomplished? You still need more of my hand-holdin’ before ya jump in the saddle with your boyfriend?”
“I—” She faltered, mouth open, eyes wide.
He pounced on the pause because he couldn’t stop himself.
“Ya sure were gone a long while,” he declared.
She sat back and crossed her arms. Her expression was cautious. Guarded. “Time got away from us,” she admitted.
It flies when you’re busy swallowin’ each other’s tongues, he thought, feeling his nostrils flare.
Aloud, he said casually, “He’s a good talker. Noticed that about him right off.”
Her jaw worked side to side like she was searching for words. Finally, she settled on, “He’s lived an exciting life. That helps to keep the conversation lively.”
“Mmm.” He nodded like he gave a fiddler’s fuck about Martin Massey’s exciting life. Then he leaned back in his chair and asked, “Did ya share the good news with him?”
Her brow furrowed. “Good news?”
“That you’ve cleared the last hurdle in your healin’ journey and you’re ready to jump back into life and all its…pleasures.” The last word came out slicker than he meant. Even he wanted to recoil from it.
