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No. She needed to apologize and get the truth. Nothing else.
“Don’t be silly, it’s early. Stay. Have some fun since I’ve dragged you here and forced you to work during a holiday.”
“But Hank—”
“Do you really think Mistress Emily has taken her eyes off that child for one moment since we left the hotel?”
No, she probably hadn’t. Ever since the soap incident, for which Allie’s seventyish landlady felt horrible, she’d been incredibly protective. “It was very nice of you to invite her along to babysit so I didn’t have to leave him.”
“Wouldn’t dream of leaving him behind!” Mortimer smiled and gave her a wink. “Besides, though he denies it, I think Roderick has developed a bit of a tendresse for the lady.”
Allie chuckled. “I think it’s reciprocated.” Shrugging, she added, “You know, I once thought I’d try to set her up with you.”
His chest puffed out as he laughed. “Me? Goodness, no, she’s much too nice, too quiet for the likes of me.”
Considering Mortimer had liked being kidnapped and held as a sex slave by two old ladies last year, he might be right.
Before she even really had time to prepare herself, much less figure out what to say, Mortimer had left, following the last audience members out. Now, just she and Damon remained in the tent. He didn’t say anything. Not a single word. The man was obviously going to make this very hard on her.
“Hi,” she mumbled, mustering the courage to approach him.
He stared down at her from the stage, a few feet above, looking big and remote—powerful—like some sea captain on the deck of a ship. Okay, enough with the romance novel images!
“Miss Cavanaugh.” Ignoring her, he headed to the prop box on the side of the stage.
“I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”
“No, I’m not.” He didn’t even look over, instead reaching for the top button of his silky shirt and slipping it free.
Allie had just inhaled a breath of air, but when she saw him slowly strip the shirt off his hard, golden body, that air turned into a lump in her throat. She choked on it, coughing into her fist, looking down—looking anywhere—but at that taut, rippled chest, sprinkled lightly with dark, wiry hair. Not to mention those broad shoulders, flexing with muscle and slick with sweat under the hot lights. “Wh-what are you doing?”
He didn’t even look at her. “Changing.”
“Don’t you have a dressing room or something?”
Shrugging, he snagged a T-shirt out from amid the props and walked over, holding it in his hands. He took his damn sweet time putting it on, too, stretching it over his head, lifting his arms up and tugging it down over those impossibly broad shoulders. Each moment he delayed gave her another chance to drool over the incredible body. While every bit of him flexed and rolled with power, every bit of her went soft and gooey with want.
Once he’d pulled the shirt on, he muttered, “Makes it easier to get from here to my camper if I’m not as easily recognizable.”
Oh, sure. A tight T-shirt was going to disguise that hard form, that handsome face, those amazing eyes. It’d be easier for Jensen Ackles to go incognito at a Supernatural convention.
“Well, bye,” he said, hopping off the stage and heading down the aisle toward the exit. He sounded so completely unaffected, uninterested, that she almost believed it was true. Almost.
But the tension illustrated by his clenched fists and his rigid, hard steps away from her told her he was lying. He was affected. He was interested. He was just too angry to admit it.
“Stop. Please. I need to talk to you.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, raising a bored brow. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve had plenty of ladies follow me from town to town. Frankly, it seems kind of desperate. Especially because, once I leave a place, I always lose interest. In it…and in the people.”
Direct hit. She flinched, as if he’d thrown a rock at her rather than just some harsh words. “Wow, you’re really angry at me for standing you up.”
That got a reaction, and he spun around and stalked back until he towered directly over her. A blast of heat enveloped her, sparked by his tense form and his electric anger. “Don’t flatter yourself. I get offers every night of the week.”
Yeah. He probably accepted a lot of them, too. Which meant she should be giving thanks she hadn’t become a member of his harem. Somehow, though, looking at his handsome face and stormy eyes, feeling the almost magnetic pull that urged her to wrap her arms around his neck and slide closer—just a bit closer—so that her breasts rubbed against that broad chest, she couldn’t manage to be grateful. All she felt was an indefinable sense of loss.
The sadness over what might have been colored her perceptions of this man and her time with him—it probably always would. Men like Damon Cole weren’t used to women saying no, and they definitely weren’t the type who were stood up. Allie had done both from the minute she’d met him, and he had obviously run out of patience. And interest.
She could try to explain, tell him she’d been called to the hospital for her baby. But she sensed it wouldn’t matter. He’d moved on—to the next town, to the next woman. No second chances. The only thing left to do was get the information she needed to reclaim her normal life back in Trouble.
