Hansel 4(23)

I watch the color drain from his face and see his lips part in surprise. He shuts his mouth. Stops walking. He looks quizzically around the room, as if he’d like an explanation of how I got here.

I smile a little—terrified, self-conscious—and start toward him.

Our gazes break apart. His rolls up and down my body; mine devours him. Sharp pain wedges in behind my breastbone—like I’m missing him in real-time, already longing for…well, everything about this man. I’m addicted to the way he takes up space on planet earth.

His eyes rush over me as I move into touching distance. His face bends into something softer: a kind of precursor to a smile.

He reaches out to touch my shoulder. “Leah.”

I smile, small and nervous. “Hi, Luke.”

“Hi.” His voice is low, discreet, but his eyes are eating me alive. I stand, frozen, like a child licked by a dog’s tongue. I can only shiver in response to him. Maybe I stand there longer than I think, because a moment later, his free hand clasps my shoulder gently.

“Come here,” he says.

He leads me over to a small, brown couch, and we sit. I can only look at him. At his tanned face, sporting a sexy five o’clock shadow. At his warm, brown-green eyes. At his broad shoulders, and finally, at his hands. God, those hands. Even now, with their fresh scars—and the memory of the awful night he put them there—his lithe, strong hands do something to me.

I reach down and touch the left one, resting on his knee. When he turns his hand over and curls his fingers around mine, I grin.

“It’s okay!”

He smiles a little. “Yeah.”

“Great. That’s so great. I thought of you.” What does that mean? I rub my forehead. “Good thoughts. Healing ones, and stuff.”

His mouth quirks up on one side, almost imperceptible, except I’m watching so closely. “Thank you.”

I suck in a deep breath, becoming slowly more aware that while I’m tripping all over myself, he seems unusually calm. His eyes are clear; there’s something different in his face: a kind of peace.

Dear God, he’s handsome. I look him up and down and promptly want to die.

“What’s in there?” I nod at the pink box in his hand.

“This?” He flips the top open, and I spy food porn.

“Donuts. Ahhhh.”

He nods. “Voodoo Donuts. Fucking good.” He nods at the colorful assortment. “Would you like one?”

“You don’t have to.” I feel shy, for some reason. Nervous about reaching out and picking up one of the donuts. “They’re for you, so you should eat them.”

“They’re not for me.” He lifts out one that’s covered in powdered sugar. “Try this.”

I take it from him, and I can’t help noticing his face is tight and troubled now. I hold my hands up. “It’s okay. I’m fine. I don’t want to eat your donuts. I’m not even hungry.”

I’m on my feet the next second, gripping my duffel bag and reeling at the rush of heat that’s burning through my cheeks. “It was nice to see you,” I say. “I’m so glad you’re healing.”

I whirl on my heels, not even looking at him as I turn to go, and I collide with something cool and hard. I blink and wobble back, and then his hands are on me.

“Jesus, Leah.”

I frown as the space between my eyebrows starts to throb, and squint until something shiny and brass comes into focus. Oh—a luggage cart. Well, shit.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” asks the uniformed man pushing it.

“I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Luke’s hands are on my arm. I wrench away from him. Raymond acted standoffish when I called. Now I understand why.

“They’re not for me.”

Is she someone on the Dave Thomas committee with him? A beautiful heiress with a heart of gold? Maybe she’s someone local. It’s not that far fetched. Denver’s not that far from Vegas. Could be farther.

Jealous rage spreads through me like wild fire.

I dart across the lobby, aiming for some stairs. I hear footsteps right behind me, so I try to speed up. The moment my first foot hits the stairs, firm hands grab me by the hips and spin me around to face him.

“Let go of me!”

His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something but isn’t immediately sure what.

I take a step back, almost tripping backwards over a stair, then grip the rail and glower at him.

“I don’t need your charity! I get the message, Luke.” He’s clearly seeing someone else. Someone he bought donuts for. “I wish you all the best.”

Tears blur the lobby as I turn around and start to climb the stairs. Strong arms wind around my waist. His breath tickles my neck. “Leah. Stop.” He turns me to face him. His fingers tuck some hair behind my ear.