he turned back to Karin, wrapping his hands around her arms as he pulled her close again. This time, he was not sure if he was steadying her or himself. “¿Cariño? What has happened? Was there something on the news?”
Karin stared up at him, obviously stunned, her huge blue eyes growing even larger. “You mean you haven’t heard anything? But I thought…” She shook her head. “Why else would you be…” She shook it again, then pulled away from him to rub her temples as she sighed. “TJ, what are you doing here?”
The panic fled as quickly as it had come.
Reese and Jade were fine.
He stared at Karin as she folded her arms across the shirt of her Navy uniform. The panic in her eyes had ebbed as well—only to be replaced by determination. She was waiting for an answer.
Unfortunately he did not have one to give.
Not at this moment, anyway. And not when it was all he could do to simply stand here in the middle of this room, with his arms dropped to his sides—with them not locked about her, squeezing her for all she was worth. For all he was worth.
Six months.
It had been six months since her ship had pulled away from that concrete pier. Six months since he had last feasted his gaze on this tiny golden fireball of perfection standing before him. Six months, six days and ten and a half hours, if he had been counting. Not that he had.
Sí, so he had.
Unable to stop himself, he reached out and tipped the heart-shaped curve of her chin, clenching his fingers as she jerked away. He swallowed his hiss of disappointment before it could escape and firmly tucked his hands into his jacket pockets to keep from touching her again.
He had told himself he was not going to do it.
He was not supposed to touch her.
But then, he was not supposed to be standing this close to her, either. He was close enough to smell the whisper of vanilla that always clung to her. Close enough for those mesmerizing dimples to swallow him whole, the ones that were so deep, even her current frown failed to contain them. Close enough to trace the bottom curve of her full, pink lips.
No, he was definitely not supposed to be this close.
He had to move. Pronto.
Before he drowned in the blue ocean of her eyes—and told his good sense to go straight to hell. Or worse, ripped his fingers from his pockets and dug them into those golden curls.
Those short curls.
He stared hard. “You cut your hair.”
Her hands were halfway up her neck before she stiffened. She pulled them down and folded them across her chest as her chin kicked up. Not much. Perhaps a fraction of an inch.
It was enough.
It told him more than her silence. Even more than the ice now frosting her gaze. She had cut her curls to spite him.
Dios help him, he was pleased.
Her chin hitched another notch. “Like it?”
“I do not.”
But he did. It accentuated her eyes, made them appear larger, bluer.
Her maddening dimples deepened. “Too bad. I do.” With that, she twirled smoothly about, her white skirt revealing a most enticing length of calf as she slipped away. When she rounded the breakfast counter, he assumed she was simply putting her usual distance between them—until she reached the stove. The shrill whistle and steam shooting from the copper teapot finally pierced his stupor. As she flicked off the burner, he turned back to the apartment, this time really looking.
He had known this woman had money. After all, she drove a Jaguar. And there was the Cartier on her wrist. But not even that—nor even the chunk of gray marble some might call a sculpture in the lobby—could have prepared him for this.
And the fact that it was so very…white.
Everywhere.
From the gauze draped across the tops of the towering windows down to the carpet, the entire room was white. The leather couch was white, the pair of overstuffed chairs flanking it were white, the lamps were white. Even the wall unit, the dining-room table and the chairs beyond were some sort of colorless wood washed with…well, white.
Suddenly he was twenty-four again, reaching for the brass knocker on those enormous double doors. They yawned open. And then she was standing there, looking down her perfect nose at him. He could not help it—he glanced down at his jacket, then his T-shirt, jeans and boots, half-afraid his mere presence had rubbed off, leaving a great dark stain in the middle of this virgin room. Thankfully, he had not.
Yet.
He turned back to the kitchen, to Karin, and was once again confronted with white. This time, though, it was her.
She arched her brows. “Well? Are you going to tell me or not?”
He blinked.
She sighed. “What you’re doing here? I’ve figured out by now they weren’t involved in the accident.”
The accident? What— Ah, the freeway.
No wonder she had been frightened. He shook his head. “No, they were not. It came through on the scanner when it happened. I dropped Reese and Jade off an hour and a half ago by way of another route. From the way you threw yourself into my arms, I thought you had heard something about the plane.”
She flushed.
Not much.
Just the tips of her ears.
Most odd. He had always thought her so cool, so collected, so in control. But with her curls off her ears, he now knew she was not. Fascinating. He wondered if she knew. He caught the panic flitting through those deep-blue eyes as he stared, and knew.
She did.
She turned away quickly and headed back to the kitchen. This time he labeled her action for what it was.
Retreat.
He masked his smile as she turned back, the high counter once again firmly between them.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He shook his head. “I did not.”
“Well? Are you going to? Or did you just drop by for dinner, unannounced?”
“Would you dine with me if I had?”
“No.”
He glanced down at the counter, at the empty yogurt container with the spoon still inside, at the orange rind piled beside the remote control, and tsked. “You could use a good meal, no?”
She did not answer. Nor did she need to, for her narrow gaze spoke for her. She finally severed that frosty glare and scooped up the rind and
