He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

wasn’t something he could stomach. He wanted her, desperately, but he wanted her to want him just as much, and he didn’t want to scare her.
    He smiled and slowly walked toward her, hoping to keep her from looking down. If she did, she wouldn’t have any doubts about what he was really thinking. “Why don’t you go sit in the living room and I’ll grab us a couple of beers?”
    “Sure. Sounds good.” She returned his smile and turned away.
    Logan ran a shaking hand through his hair and slowly counted to ten.
    S o much for her pathetic attempt at seduction.
    Amanda felt like an idiot.
    She had plenty of clean nightgowns, but she’d purposely chosen one of Logan’s silky shirts because she thought it might look sexy on her. It worked in the movies. Why hadn’t it worked for her? When he’d stared at her so long without making a move toward her, she’d started to feel self-conscious. Maybe he thought she looked ridiculous in his oversized shirt. She didn’t have a clue what he was thinking and she’d crossed her arms self-consciously, turning the conversation to hide her embarrassment.
    He walked into the room, carrying two beers. After handing her one, he sat down beside her on the couch. They faced each other, each with a leg drawn up and an arm resting on the back of the couch.
    They both took a few sips of their beers, then set them down on the coffee table. She put her hands in her lap and waited for him to say something. He stared at her so long she started to feel nervous again.
    “Karen told me there was an accident last night, but she didn’t give me many details,” she finally said.
    He blinked as if to bring her into focus, as if he’d been deep in thought. “The accident. Yeah, it had to do with Branson, actually. A car T-boned the police cruiser that was taking him to lockup.”
    She fisted a hand against her chest. “That’s terrible. Was anyone hurt?”
    “Two of my officers, but it looks like they’re going to be fine. We don’t know about the driver of the other car though. It was a hit and run.”
    “What about Mr. Branson?”
    He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. “Frank Branson is missing.”
    “Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe he escaped. That’s so weird that something like that happened. What are the odds, huh?”
    He gave her a funny look as if he was surprised at what she’d said. “Yeah, what are the odds?”
    She drummed her nails against her thigh and looked toward the dark, empty TV screen. She thought about turning it on but she really didn’t want to watch anything. She wanted to do something, but apparently she was the only one.
    His warm hand gently closed around hers, stopping her nervous tapping. “Is something wrong?”
    She looked up, hoping to see some hint of the passion he’d displayed last night, after their kiss in the moonlight. But instead he was looking at her with concern. She clenched her fists in her lap. Had she really thought he would still want her after having time to calm down and think? She wasn’t beautiful, and she was damaged, inside and out. She was foolish to think he would ever really want to make love to her. “Nothing’s wrong. I guess I’ll head up to bed now.”
    “Me, too.” He stood at the same time she did. He moved back to let her pass ahead of him, and she walked toward the stairs with as much dignity as she could, knowing the thin shirt revealed more than it hid, and knowing that he didn’t want her now.
    She held her head up, refusing to worry about the peep show she was probably giving him as he followed her up. After living for years by herself with no prospects for a love life she didn’t exactly have any sexy underwear. Her purchases were ruled by comfort and her pocket book. Tonight, rather than wear sensible white cotton panties, she’d worn nothing.
    Let him look. She didn’t care.
    Midway up the stairs she thought she heard him groan. She stopped and turned around. His gaze jerked up to meet hers and he gave her a tight smile.
    She turned back around before he saw her answering grin. He certainly wasn’t looking at the stairs when she’d turned around, and his jaw was clenched so tight when he smiled it looked more like a grimace.
    Maybe wearing his shirt wasn’t a bad idea after all.
    She hurried up the last few steps, knowing the shirt would bounce higher that way.
    Logan cursed behind her and it sounded like he’d stumbled on the stairs.
    At the top she turned. “Are you okay? Did