The Distraction Read Free Page B

lipstick mark I’d left there. I bit my bottom lip, wishing he’d touch my mouth in the same way.
    And now I was jealous of a ceramic cup.
    â€œIf it’s too much, I can get rid of some of this stuff,” I said.
    Please say something,
I willed him. The silence was unnerving. I tried to keep all my fears at bay, but they were pushing hard at the forefront of my mind. Things had changed. We had changed. I didn’t belong here. I’d made myself too at home in his absence.
    He had continued on to the dining room, and in the narrow computer nook between the two rooms he paused, brows lifting. While he’d been gone, I’d gotten his college degree certificate from his father, framed it, and put it up. At the time it had seemed like a nice thing to do, but as I watched his hand slide down his throat, I wasn’t so sure.
    â€œLook,” I said quietly, unable to stand it any longer. “You probably want some time to relax. I should go home. You can call me later if you feel up to it.” I didn’t even know if he had the same phone number that he did before he left.
    His head snapped toward me.
    â€œYou still live in the studio?”
    I shook my head. “No. Didn’t seem like the safest place after the whole stalker/abduction thing, you know?” I tried to laugh, but there wasn’t much breath behind it. “I got a little apartment in South Tampa. I didn’t want to suffocate you.”
    He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the wall, looking disappointed. Hope lifted my spirits, but they crashed again as the seconds wound on.
    â€œThere’s a little food in the refrigerator,” I said. “I meant to stock up before you came home, but I thought you would still be a couple days.” I wiped my damp palms on my sweatpants. “I did get you ice cream.”
    I turned to the freezer and opened the slender silver door. Inside were eight different cardboard cartons—exactly seven too many, I realized now. I closed my eyes, waiting for the cold air to cool me off.
    â€œThat’s a lot of ice cream,” he said, a trace of humor in his voice.
    I winced. “You told me once you liked vanilla. I didn’t know which kind—French vanilla, or vanilla bean, or plain—so I got them all.”
    Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
    â€œI don’t want you to leave, Anna.” The quiet way he said my name made my heart hurt, and I turned around to face him. His back was against the counter, hands still fisted in his pockets. His arms were definitely bigger than before. Both of my hands together wouldn’t fit around his biceps, and that realization gave me another thrill. I couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like without his shirt on. If his pecs, his abs, that thin, sexy line of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband, were still the same.
    â€œAnna,” he said again, and I shook my head, refocusing on his face. “What are you thinking?”
    â€œWhy didn’t you call?” I sagged back against the cool doors of the refrigerator. There was only five feet at most between us, but it might as well have been five hundred.
    He looked down at the floor, where I’d left my shoes earlier. “I wanted to. The FBI kept me pretty tied up.” He hesitated. “I got your letters.”
    The air left my lungs in a whoosh. Terry Benitez had told me he wouldn’t be able to talk to me, but I’d needed to hear Alec say it.
    Alec reached in his back pocket and pulled out an envelope. It was a little wrinkled, but otherwise in good shape. Carefully, he opened it, revealing a stack of notes I’d sent him. As he flipped through them I could see that the paper was worn, the creases nearly torn. He’d read them. A lot. Another shimmer of hope made me stand a little taller.
    â€œHow’d you get out early?”
    He gave me a small smile. “Good behavior.”
    â€œThat