else did she want?
Silly question. She wanted to sleep with Malcolm again, to experience how it would feel to be with him as a woman. All the tantalizing snippets his friends had shared of his past and present drew her in, seducing her with both the Malcolm he’d been and the Malcolm he’d become. She burned to sleep with him, and she couldn’t come up with one good reason why she shouldn’t.
Would she have the courage to throw caution to the wind and act on what she wanted? “I made us something to eat—as well as tea with lemon and honey to soothe your throat.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to wait on me,” he answered, his voice more gravelly than usual, punctuating her point about the need for tea. He walked deeper into the room, his hand grazing a miniature wooden windmill, tapping the blades until they spun in a lazy circle.
“Direct orders from your manager,” Celia said. “You’re to have something to eat and drink, protect your health for the tour.”
“What about you? Any more dizzy spells today?” He sliced off a sliver of Gouda. “Here … have some cheese.”
She rested her fingers on his wrist, a small move, just a test run to see how he would react. “I’m good. I promise. Your pal the doctor gave me two thumbs up.”
Malcolm eyes narrowed before he tossed the cheese into his mouth and paced restlessly around the room, past the baby grand piano, a guitar propped against the side. “You two seemed to hit it off.”
Wondering where he was going with the discussion of Rowan, she poured another cup of steaming-hot tea. “What exactly did he invent?”
Malcolm dropped onto the other end of the sofa and reluctantly took the tea. “He devised a new computerized diagnostic model with Troy. They patented it, and they both made a bundle. Essentially, Rowan can afford to retire if he wishes.”
Interesting, but not surprising given what she’d gleaned about Malcolm and all his friends. “And he chose to work in a West African clinic instead. That’s very altruistic of him.”
“You can join the Rowan Boothe fan club. It’s large.”
She lifted an eyebrow in shock. “You don’t like him?”
“Of course I do. He’s one of my best friends. I would do anything for him. I’m acting like a jealous idiot because you two seemed to hit it off.” He tossed back the tea, then cursed over the heat. He set the cup down fast and charged over to the mini-fridge for bottled water.
He was jealous? Of her and Rowan? Hope fluttered.
She set her cup down carefully. “Your charitable donations have been widely reported. Every time I saw you at an orphanage or children’s hospital … I admire what you’ve done with your success, Malcolm, and yes, I have kept up with you the way you’ve kept up with me.”
Malcolm downed the bottle of water before turning back to her. “Rowan’s the stable, settle-down sort you keep swearing you want now. But damn it all, I still want you. So if you want him or someone like him, you’d better speak up now, because I’m about five seconds away from kissing you senseless.”
“You silly, silly man.” She pushed to her feet and walked toward him. “You have nothing to be jealous of. I was asking for his medical help.”
“What did you say?” He pinned her with a laser stare. “Are you ill? God, and I’ve been hauling you from country to country.”
“Malcolm, stop. Listen. I have something I need to tell you.” She drew in a bracing breath and willed her fluttering pulse to steady. Before they got to the kissing-senseless part, she needed to be sure he was okay with what had happened during the boat ride. Trusting him—anyone—with this subject was tough. But she hoped she could have faith in the genuine, good man she’d seen earlier with his friends. “I was having a regular, old-fashioned panic attack.”
He blinked uncomprehendingly for a few seconds before clasping her shoulders. “Damn it, Celia, why didn’t you tell me, instead of—”
She rested a hip against the baby grand piano. “Because you would have acted just like this, freaking out, making a huge deal out of it, and believe me, that’s the last thing I could have handled yesterday.”
Comprehension slid across his leanly handsome face. “Rowan helped you. As a doctor.” He plowed his fingers through his hair. “God, I’m such an idiot.”
“Not an idiot. Just a man.” She sighed with relief to finally have crossed this hurdle without a drawn-out ordeal. “I left my medicine at home. He helped connect with my doctor and get my prescription refilled.”
“You’ve had panic attacks before?”
“Not as often as I used to, but yes, every now and again.”
His shoulders rolled forward as he rubbed his forehead. “The concert tour was probably a bad idea. What was I thinking?”
“You had no way of knowing because I didn’t tell you.” She couldn’t let him blame himself. She stroked his forehead for him, nudging aside his hand. Just a brief touch, but one that sent tingles down her arm. “Staying home with some criminal leaving dead roses in my car wasn’t particularly pleasant, either. For all we know, I would have had more anxiety back home. You’ve taken on a major upheaval in your life to help me.”
“Are you okay now?” He reached for her, stopping just short of touching her as if afraid she would break.
“Please don’t go hypercautious with me.” She eased back to sit on the piano bench. “I felt much better after a good night’s sleep. The medicine isn’t an everyday thing. Not anymore. The prescription is just on an as-needed basis. And while I needed help yesterday, today’s been a good day.”
He sat beside her, his warm, hard thigh pressing against her. “When did the panic attacks start? Is that okay to ask?”
Gathering her thoughts grew tougher with the brush of his leg against hers. “I had trouble with postpartum depression after … The doctor said it was hormonal, and while the stress didn’t help, it wasn’t the sole cause—” she pointed at him “—so don’t start blaming yourself.”
He clasped a hand around her finger, enfolding her hand in his. “Easier said than done.”
“You are absolved.” She squeezed gently, her heart softening the rest of the way for this man. She’d never had any luck resisting him, and she wondered why she’d ever assumed now would be different. “And I mean that.”
“After what happened yesterday, I’m not so sure I can buy into that.” Guilt dug deep furrows in his lean face.
“You have to.” She cupped his cheek in her palm, the bristle of his late-day beard a seductive abrasion against her palm. Until, finally, she surrendered to the inevitable they’d been racing toward since the minute he’d walked back into her life again. “Because I desperately want to make love with you, and that’s not going to happen if you’re feeling guilty or sorry for me.”
