Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(19)

“No,” I said too fast, but it was already out and there was no taking it back. So I cleared my throat and tried to sound less like some loser, eager for her company. “No, I don’t mind.” I bent to pat my boy and take a damn minute to compose myself. “Is Steven still here?”

“No. He left at six. He offered to take Wally, but I thought—and I hope I didn’t overstep—I thought since I was here and waiting anyway . . .” She gestured to my boy. His tail beat an enthusiastic rhythm against my leg as though Wally knew a beautiful woman was talking about him.

He trotted back to her and rubbed his head under her hand. She immediately patted him and rubbed his ears. Wally sighed like he was in heaven.

Lucky dog.

“I hope that’s okay,” she repeated, looking guarded.

But then, she always looked guarded.

“Yeah.” I nodded, waving away her concern. “Yeah. Makes sense.” I sounded winded. My chest was doing that shitty thing where it felt too tight, or too full.

Not helping matters, she looked gorgeous. Her hair was a mess, a sexy mess, mussed from sleep, big and poofy, falling over her face and shoulders. Her eyes were drowsy and her clothes were rumpled. I liked her like this, so different from the starched-shirt façade from earlier in the day.

Get a fucking hold of yourself, Daniel. Obviously she needs something. She didn’t wait here all day so she could hump your leg.

But the thought that she’d waited for me, and might need something from me, was almost as intoxicating as if she’d actually come here to hump my leg. To put it plainly, I wasn’t about to turn either request down.

“So, uh.” I tried to take a deep breath. I couldn’t. “Is there something you need?” I walked to the bureau to put some distance between us. She was too close. Four feet with anyone else was fine and dandy. Four feet with Kat, alone in my apartment, was suffocating.

“I . . .” I heard her take a breath. Then another, louder this time.

I glanced over my shoulder, found she was holding herself, her arms tight around her middle. That made me frown.

“Okay. Okay.” She nodded, obviously talking to herself.

Finally, my stupid brain moved beyond the shock of seeing her, her being here, and all the clutter of hopes and dirty dreams her presence inspired. I looked at her. I really, fucking looked.

She was scared.

A jolt of alarm had me crossing to her before I could check the instinct. Holding her shoulders, I angled my chin to catch her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s . . . it’s—I can’t believe I’m going to ask you this.” She exhaled a laugh, sounding a little guilty, like always.

“You need money?”

“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “No. I’m actually here to offer you money.”

I let my hands drop and backed up, lifting my chin. The fact she was here to offer me money landed like a blow. Or at the very least, it felt like a paper cut. It stung.

Sure, we weren’t close, but we were friendly. At least, I thought we were. You don’t pay friends, it was the eleventh commandment, right after not coveting thy neighbor’s cow.

Thou shalt not covet cows. Oh yeah, and don’t offer to pay your friends either.

Dropping my chin, I tried not to glare at her. But I’m pretty sure I did.

“I don’t want your money. You need something, just ask.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. It’s the ABC’s of friendship, Kat.”

She looked a little startled. “We’re friends?”

Ugh. Fuck a duck.

Then she took a small step forward, and she looked hopeful.

Ugh. Fuck another duck.

“Yeah. ’Course we’re friends.” I wiped my hand across my mouth, then shoved it in my pocket.

What I didn’t say was . . . a lot.

She was twisting her fingers again, like she’d done today in the lobby. “What if I pay you—”

“How about this. Why don’t you tell me what you need first? Then we’ll discuss the money after. Okay?”

She hesitated, then nodded, her breath coming faster. “Okay, okay.” Again, I got the impression she was speaking to herself. “I can do this.”

Another spike of alarm had me wanting to touch her again, but I didn’t. From the look of it, whatever was bothering her, whatever brought her here, must’ve been a big deal.

I tried to keep the worry out of my voice, gently prodding, “Start from the beginning.”

“The story is too long. Can I just—” She paused to swallow, her eyes pleading. “Can I just tell you the end?”