Pippa dropped her head. “I know.” She pushed her keyboard toward the computer so she could rest her elbows on the desk. “I sent you a good list of counselors near you. Please tell me you looked one up.”
“Have you?” Trixie asked. “You weren’t raped, but I think it might’ve been worse for you. You can’t be okay after all that.”
Bile rose in Pippa’s throat. “I still have online appointments with Dr. Valentine. He’s fantastic, and I wish you’d call him.” Three emails dinged about the travel plans. “I have to go. If you need me, call me. I’ll be right there, Sister.”
“Ditto.” Trixie hung up.
Pippa buried herself in work, forgetting all about the past. Night had arrived by the time Malcolm’s truck pulled into his driveway.
Her heartbeat quickened. She smoothed back her hair and looked down. Blue T-shirt and plain yoga pants. But she’d painted her toenails an electric pink, so she looked somewhat put together. Even so, when his soft rap came on the door, she jumped.
She almost yelled for him to come in and then remembered she had triple locks on each door. Oh yeah. Okay. Get a grip. Steeling her shoulders, she moved to the door and opened it. “Hi.”
He held Chinese food in his hands and intensity in his gaze. “Hi. I brought dinner.”
All of a sudden, she realized she was starving. “I forgot to eat.” Anything actually.
His dark eyebrows arched. “Then we should fix that.” Cool, crisp air washed in with him. At least it had stopped raining.
Butterflies wound almost leisurely through her abdomen. A low pull tightened her muscles. She moved aside to let him pass. Why was she so nervous? Oh yeah. Four orgasms in one night.
He walked past her, paused, and turned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Was I too rough last night?” His eyes darkened.
She shook her head. “No. Just the right amount of rough.”
His grin lightened something inside her. Something she hadn’t realized was heavy. “I hope I wasn’t too rough on you,” she teased, shutting the door.
He chuckled and strode with long lengths into the kitchen to deposit the bags of food. “I do have a couple of interesting scratches along my ass.”
She stopped. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” He unpacked the cartons and looked around before finding dishes.
Heat infused her face and she hustled for the counter and an open bottle of Cabernet. “Wine?”
He glanced at the bottle. “Feel free. I’d better stick to water. Had my fill of booze today.”
She blinked and poured one glass. “I thought you were at work.”
“I was. Had to meet a guy in a bar and get information from him. Hence a bunch of alcohol I didn’t need.” Mal grabbed utensils and dropped into a chair.
She took a seat and eyed the food. Unease filtered into her pleasure at having his company. “Are you undercover again?” If he’d gone active, she’d have to leave. It was just too risky to date a detective. She wasn’t that good.
“No.” He dished out rice and noodles. “Still with requisitions. But I’m working on that form-stealing case.” Tiny lines fanned out from his eyes. Was he tense? Stressed?
“Oh.” She put a couple of pot stickers on her plate. “I didn’t know forms were so important.”
He chewed thoughtfully. “Well, just imagine what you can do with forms. Think of the items you can order and then return for money. It can be quite profitable.”
She swallowed some of the wine, letting it warm her. “You don’t seem like a guy who’d be happy on the sidelines like that,” she murmured. “I saw you in action. You were good.” Really good, or a lot more people would be dead. The thought both intrigued and threatened her.
He tipped back his water. “Says the enticing woman hiding in a cottage at the end of a long lane.”
Good point.
