Deadline (Sandra Brown)

occasion?”
    Completely baffled, he said, “Amelia, what are you doing here?”
    “I suppose it was rude of me not to call first, but—”
    “Screw manners,” he said impatiently. “Why would you come at all? I thought I would be the last person on earth you’d want to see after last night.”
    As they stood there looking at each other, the aftershocks of that explosive encounter were still being felt. The demand, the frantic groping, her hands, his mouth, the insistent coupling, the ecstasy of the synchronized climax.
    Suddenly he frowned with concern. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
    “No.”
    “Well, that’s good. I didn’t exercise much—”
    “Control. No, neither did I.”
    “I was going to say finesse.”
    “A better word. You’re the writer.”
    Again, the conversation died.
    He turned his head aside, looking away from her. “If you’re worried about getting pregnant, you won’t. I had a vasectomy when I was twenty-two.”
    That came from so far out of left field, she didn’t know how to respond. Eventually she said, “Twenty-two? That was awfully young to make that kind of commitment.”
    “I don’t regret it.”
    “Then it was the right decision for you.”
    He looked at her again and seemed annoyed that she hadn’t taken issue, that she’d denied him the opportunity to defend his decision. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
    “I’m not going to let you get away with your exit line last night.”
    He gave her a long look, then nodded his head slowly. “Oh, I get what this is about. The morning-after rehash. A must-have for women. I wouldn’t have expected something so banal from you.”
    Her temper flared. “And I wouldn’t have expected you to act like a jerk.”
    He didn’t argue the point, which was as good as an admission that a jerk was exactly what he was being. Appearing as ill at ease with himself as much as with her, he ran his hand around the back of his neck. When he lowered his hand to his side and looked at her, his expression was resigned.
    “You want me to tell you how good it was? Christ, Amelia, couldn’t you tell? Doesn’t it go without saying?”
    “Then why did you bolt?”
    “I told you why.”
    “You gave me an excuse. But you’re withholding the reason.”
    “In other words, I’m a liar.”
    “Please don’t try to pick a fight to avoid an issue.”
    “Now I have issues?”
    “You’ve said so yourself!”
    “Right,” he returned, matching her tone. “I do. So you should heed the warning and stay away from me.”
    “Why, Dawson? Why do you say you want me with every breath, then push me away? I want to know. Tell me now. Why? ”
    “Because Jeremy put you and your kids through hell. I won’t do that to them or to you.”
    “I’ve come to think that Jeremy didn’t have post-traumatic stress.”
    “Maybe. But I’m not faking my nightmares.”
    “I’m willing to help you through—”
    “Thanks, but I’m not willing for you to.”
    “Isn’t that my decision to make?”
    “No.”
    She paused to catch her breath. As she did so, she noticed his determination not to look directly at her. “Your nightmares aren’t the reason, are they? That’s just another excuse. Like the loner thing.”
    “Loner thing?”
    “Headly said you—”
    “Oh, Headly said. You’ve talked about me with Headly?”
    “You’ve assumed a loner outlook, when actually it goes against your nature.”
    “What the fuck? Headly’s an expert on my nature ?”
    “I think there’s something to what he said.”
    “What makes you think so?”
    “A vasectomy at twenty-two for one thing.”
    “That has nothing to do with what we’re talking about.”
    “It has everything to do with it.”
    “You’re wrong.”
    “No, I’m not. If there weren’t some truth to what Headly said, you wouldn’t be shouting.”
    Seething, he turned his back to her and switched from shouting to muttering.
    “Where’s your story?”
    He jerked himself back around to face her. “What?”
    “Another excuse has been your heedless pursuit of a story. Nothing matters like the story. You’ll go to any lengths, take insane, life-threatening risks to get the story. So…” She gestured toward his sleeping laptop. “Where is it?”
    “I haven’t written it yet.”
    “Have you even started?”
    “No.”
    “Why?”
    “It hasn’t gelled. I haven’t decided on the direction I want to take it. Besides, the ending can’t be Jeremy dying alone in that