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Hack her email?”
    “No, you idiot. I’m going to ask her out on a date.”
    An irritated prickle swarmed up my neck and I clenched my
jaw. “Well, best of luck, mate.” My words sounded genuine but they weren’t, not
exactly. And I didn’t even know why, really. I’d only just met the woman, and
although I thought she looked damn good on the outside, I didn’t know enough
about what was on the inside to figure out if we could have a connection or not.
I certainly couldn’t lay any kind of claim to her.
    But there was just something about her that made me feel
annoyed at Peter’s intention to ask her out. And by the time I put my finger on
it, it could be too late.

Chapter Three
     
    I’d managed to get Travis Connolly to speak to me for nearly
an hour but he’d told me absolutely nothing about himself—zilch, nada, bugger
all. Oh, he probably thought he had because he’d gone into minute detail about
his accident, the speed of both cars involved, the length of the skid marks,
the safety spec on the new Volvo he’d been driving. And then there’d been the
whole spiel about the insurance and the witness statements and the decision to
buy another Volvo because he’d been so impressed with its performance. After
that came the medical list—the X-rays, the analgesia and anti-inflammatory,
right down to the doses he’d been taking and how he’d titrated them down to
needing nothing now he’d healed.
    Yes, there was no doubt in my mind that if Travis were asked
he’d say he’d told me everything I needed to know about him and his accident.
But he hadn’t and I’d been itching to ask him how it made him feel. Had he been
scared, terrified or had it all been like a dream, something happening to
someone else? Having another vehicle crash into your car so hard the wheels are
lifted into the air before whacking down on a barrier is scary stuff for
anyone, no matter who you are. Getting carted off in an ambulance, strapped
down, collared up, told not to move in case your cervical spine is broken is
enough to make anyone have nightmares.
    Though something told me Travis Connolly would rather pull
out his fingernails than confess to being frightened. He’d sat on my couch and
worn a polite smile like a mask. A mask that was different from the one I’d
seen him use in public when his privacy had been encroached upon, then he’d
just looked angry. It was also an expression a million miles from the one I’d
seen on court when he was beating an opponent into submission. That was pure,
gritty determination. No, this had been tight, almost forced, his smile pasted
on. A few times I’d seen a light in his eyes, but mainly I got the impression
he was more interested in the clock on my desk than what we were supposed to be
doing.
    But since it was our first session, I’d been easy on him,
let him rattle on and on about whatever he wanted to. It had been hard, against
my nature really. But I still felt bad about taking a wrong turn in the men’s
changing room yesterday and having a good ogle at his naked body, so I kind of
felt that evened up the score a little, that I’d been gentle with him.
    Still, I was sure he’d think it odd that I couldn’t stop
fiddling with my damn hair—what was with it today, must have been the
humidity—or that bits of fluff kept needing to be removed from my skirt. And my
legs, it was like they needed a good jog to get the twitches out of them. Every
time I crossed them I had the urge to re-cross. He’d think I was trying to do a
Sharon Stone.
    After he’d hotfooted out at the end of the session, I
flopped onto the couch. The body heat he’d left behind seeped through my skirt
and into my buttocks and a thrill shivered through me. He was as bloody
gorgeous close up as he was from the stands or inadvertently spying on him in
the shower. My body clock might be messed up but there was nothing the matter
with my antennae for spotting a hot guy. He’d smelled divine too. The scent