his T-shirt and carefully drew it over her lap. She went rigid, flushing. "This is what makes me believe I can fix things. My scent comforts you. That's a truth we can work with."
* * * *
Humiliation slammed through Annabel. She grabbed the bit of cotton and chucked it at Zach. It bounced off his chest. He didn't react. Not a smile, a smirk, or a laugh, and thank God for that because if he had, she would've lunged off the couch and punched him.
"Keep it," she snapped. "You don't know what I need. You proved that already."
He eased the crumpled blue cotton from his lap to hers. The furrow of his brows didn't speak of temper. It spoke of deep, careful thoughts. And when he spoke them, they rocked her world.
"You need is what we all need--to belong. I can help with that."
How had he known? All she had ever wanted was for someone to love her enough to protect and comfort her. But no one ever had. Not even her mom. Traumatic memories haunted her nightly regarding the many, the futile things she'd done in her quest to be treasured, to be valued, to be loved. The list was both extensive and heartbreaking.
She'd buried that need, goddamn it.
Didn't I?
With one sentence, he resurrected that need, that soul-deep want. It twisted in her gut. Please, somebody, love me ...
"And because you are worth the effort."
His cloud-gray eyes were steady as they looked into hers. Believe me, they seemed to say. The want was so strong it shook her. Oh, God, she prayed, not again. Please. But the dream fluttered in her heart, proving that a lifetime of failure hadn't stripped it from her soul.
"H-how?" She breathed the question. "I mean, I am?"
He smiled that movie star smile of his. Dimples grooved his cheeks.
"Of course you are," he said, then stood and glanced at the door. "Seth's waiting in the car to drive me home, so I'd better go. I'll see you tomorrow night at the townhouse. You'll be meeting with me for dinner all this week, maybe more."
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and extracted a twenty-dollar bill, which he sat on the coffee table behind him. "Here. For gas."
She must have lost a point during their talk. "Why?"
"As I said, I expect you at my house on Monday. We'll be meeting for dinner every evening this week."
Yep, she'd missed something. "Why?" she asked again.
"Because I want you there and because you need to eat. You're so damned skinny you scare me."
The door closed behind him without her managing to find anything to say to that.
Chapter 9
"Over here. On your knees."
Annabel froze in shock and disbelief. She'd spent the past hour or so working alongside Zach in the kitchen. The delicious scent of halloumi cheese and chicken skewers wafted across her senses in the most tantalizing of ways. She'd followed him into the living room, her stomach growling its impatience. His words, however, froze her in place.
Maybe she hadn't heard right. "What?"
Plate of food in hand, he walked to an overstuffed chair across the room from the fireplace. He stopped and set the plate on the convenient end table before turning back to her and leveling a steady gaze back to onto her.
"Over here," he repeated. "On your knees."
As they'd prepped the food and prepared it, she and Zach had bounced off each other. Well, she had bounced, she admitted. He seemed to enjoy pressing into her personal space. She was always uncomfortable when that close to another person in a non-sexual scene. A slap or a painful pinch could come at any time.
It was second nature to move out of arm's reach whenever anyone was that close. But what had really fried her nerves had been his determined act of whispering every word into her ear. "Hand me the oil; pass me the parsley." She'd nearly dropped her glass of white wine the first time he'd done that. However, after hours spent with his body inside her personal bubble, she'd managed to relax. It was clear he was occupied with stovetop duties and busy hands couldn't hit or pinch.
But now?
* * * *
Humiliation slammed through Annabel. She grabbed the bit of cotton and chucked it at Zach. It bounced off his chest. He didn't react. Not a smile, a smirk, or a laugh, and thank God for that because if he had, she would've lunged off the couch and punched him.
"Keep it," she snapped. "You don't know what I need. You proved that already."
He eased the crumpled blue cotton from his lap to hers. The furrow of his brows didn't speak of temper. It spoke of deep, careful thoughts. And when he spoke them, they rocked her world.
"You need is what we all need--to belong. I can help with that."
How had he known? All she had ever wanted was for someone to love her enough to protect and comfort her. But no one ever had. Not even her mom. Traumatic memories haunted her nightly regarding the many, the futile things she'd done in her quest to be treasured, to be valued, to be loved. The list was both extensive and heartbreaking.
She'd buried that need, goddamn it.
Didn't I?
With one sentence, he resurrected that need, that soul-deep want. It twisted in her gut. Please, somebody, love me ...
"And because you are worth the effort."
His cloud-gray eyes were steady as they looked into hers. Believe me, they seemed to say. The want was so strong it shook her. Oh, God, she prayed, not again. Please. But the dream fluttered in her heart, proving that a lifetime of failure hadn't stripped it from her soul.
"H-how?" She breathed the question. "I mean, I am?"
He smiled that movie star smile of his. Dimples grooved his cheeks.
"Of course you are," he said, then stood and glanced at the door. "Seth's waiting in the car to drive me home, so I'd better go. I'll see you tomorrow night at the townhouse. You'll be meeting with me for dinner all this week, maybe more."
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and extracted a twenty-dollar bill, which he sat on the coffee table behind him. "Here. For gas."
She must have lost a point during their talk. "Why?"
"As I said, I expect you at my house on Monday. We'll be meeting for dinner every evening this week."
Yep, she'd missed something. "Why?" she asked again.
"Because I want you there and because you need to eat. You're so damned skinny you scare me."
The door closed behind him without her managing to find anything to say to that.
Chapter 9
"Over here. On your knees."
Annabel froze in shock and disbelief. She'd spent the past hour or so working alongside Zach in the kitchen. The delicious scent of halloumi cheese and chicken skewers wafted across her senses in the most tantalizing of ways. She'd followed him into the living room, her stomach growling its impatience. His words, however, froze her in place.
Maybe she hadn't heard right. "What?"
Plate of food in hand, he walked to an overstuffed chair across the room from the fireplace. He stopped and set the plate on the convenient end table before turning back to her and leveling a steady gaze back to onto her.
"Over here," he repeated. "On your knees."
As they'd prepped the food and prepared it, she and Zach had bounced off each other. Well, she had bounced, she admitted. He seemed to enjoy pressing into her personal space. She was always uncomfortable when that close to another person in a non-sexual scene. A slap or a painful pinch could come at any time.
It was second nature to move out of arm's reach whenever anyone was that close. But what had really fried her nerves had been his determined act of whispering every word into her ear. "Hand me the oil; pass me the parsley." She'd nearly dropped her glass of white wine the first time he'd done that. However, after hours spent with his body inside her personal bubble, she'd managed to relax. It was clear he was occupied with stovetop duties and busy hands couldn't hit or pinch.
But now?
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