12 Borrowing Trouble by Becky McGraw Page A

help fixing things.  She just wanted to be left alone to figure it out herself. 
    “Don’ t joke about that,” he said angrily, and her gaze flew up to his.  The darkness in his reprimand matched the pained expression on his face.  His jaw worked, then he swallowed.  “If you ever get there, please talk to someone.  Talk to me.”
    Suicide was a coward’s way out, not something Carrie would ever consider.  Too many people depended on her, and as messed up as it was, Carrie loved life.  This man’s persistence on the topic, the darkness and passion behind his words , piqued her curiosity about his situation.  He acted like he had firsthand knowledge of the subject.  “Have you been there before?  Tried to take the coward’s way out?”
    His face paled, and his lips became so tight they were almost white.  She felt his tension in his fingers as they dug into the flesh of her shoulders.  “No, I haven’t,” he replied indignantly.  “I would never do that.”
    He might not ever consider it, but it was obvious to Carrie that someone close to him must have.  It was written there on his face.  Carrie wasn’t going to pry though.  It wasn’t her business, and she had enough problems of her own to deal with.
    S he forced a tight smile, and said in a light tone she didn’t feel, “I made biscuits, and they didn’t suffer the same fate as the cookies.  You hungry?”
    Her deflection didn’t work.  He shook his head, then zoned back in on her.  “No, I want to know why you were crying.”
    Carrie dragged her eyes from his.  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, turning toward the stove to loosen the biscuits from the pan.  “Now, if you’re hungry, I suggest you get a biscuit and sit down to eat.  Otherwise, leave me alone and let me finish baking.”
    There was a long pause .  Carrie almost thought he’d left, but when she turned back around, he was still there.  Just staring at her.  When her eyes met his, he said, “If you were crying about last night, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry I acted like a drunk asshole.”
    I’m sorry I kissed you is what Carrie’s mind heard and emotion built in her chest again.  She wasn’t sorry he had kissed her, and that was probably why she was upset.  She had enjoyed it, wanted more of it.  The guilt that settled like a rock in the center of her chest almost overwhelmed her.  She rubbed the area between her breasts, because it hurt that bad.  “Please just leave me alone,” she whispered, as she tried to turn back toward the stove.
    Dylan stopped her and lifted a strand of her hair.  “You’ve got dough in your hair.” Every root on her scalp stood at attention as he slid his fingers slowly to the end, before he dropped it back to her shoulder.  They stood taller when he skimmed her cheek with his thumb, then settled his palm there.  The intensity of the want and need that surged through her body, the yearning in her heart to feel more of his touch, hardened her guilt to granite. 
    Carrie pulled away and spun back toward the stove.  She dragged in a shaky breath, as she picked up the spatula with a trembling hand.  “I have flour and dough everywhere.” 
    How the hell was she ever going to move on if she couldn’t get rid of this guilt at letting another man touch her?  She deserved to move on.  It wasn’t her fault she was in this situation , that she was without her husband.  Sean had left her.  But maybe she wasn’t ready yet.
    Ready or not, Dylan didn’t leave or back off.  His heat surrounded her as his body crowded her from behind.  His fingers brushed her skin as he pushed her hair aside to lean over her shoulder.  He stuck his nose into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply, then hovered there a moment with his hot breath tickling the shell of her ear.  The richer, deeper timber of his voice vibrated through her, as he finally asked, “You like to bake.  Is that why you smell