“Yes, you did.”
“We were tussling,” he explained. “I need you to know that if you’re ever serious, I wouldn’t—”
“Denver.” She teasingly bit his bottom lip. “I already know you would never cross the line. You respect women too much for that.”
Damn. It humbled him, her faith and her understanding. “True. Thank you for knowing it.” But she needed to know the full truth. “With you, it’s more than that. I care about you.”
Her eyes warmed, and her smile went sweet and silly. In a whisper, she said, “I care a lot about you, too.”
Did she love him? No, he didn’t want to ask. They had too much to deal with already. “Now, second.” Boasting only a little, he explained, “Packer isn’t going to get a chance to poke me in the eye.”
“But Miles said—”
He’d share his ire with Miles later. “I’ve watched Packer’s fights, I know how he thinks and how he moves, I have a plan, and yes, I’ll take him apart—without an eye poke. So don’t worry about it. But,” he said over her protest, “if I do have a problem, I’ll discuss it with you. I promise.”
She clearly hadn’t expected that. “Even with fighting?”
“Sure. I don’t expect you to totally grasp all the nuances of the sport, but it’s always nice to talk things out anyway.”
Looking absurdly pleased, she said, “I could be a sounding board.”
“You’re too sexy to ever be called that,” he growled against her neck. “But I enjoy talking with you. You’re a good listener.”
“I’m also smart.”
“Yes, you are.And that brings us back to Carver.”
Not liking the way he’d circled that around, she frowned. “I don’t want you in the middle of this.”
Calm, he reminded himself. Stay calm. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“Carver might...shoot off his mouth. Make threats. Say...ugly, idiot things.”
“Things he’ll mean.”
Her frown didn’t ease. “Please don’t let him provoke you.”
“I like to think I have more control than that.”
Her huff blasted him. “You’re going to insist on listening in?”
“Not insist, no.” Though he wouldn’t mind laying on the guilt, not if it got him what he wanted. “But if you trust me, why can’t I listen? Especially when you know it’ll make me feel better.”
After a lengthy, strained silence, he decided no answer was her answer. He picked up his cell. “Want me to do the honors?”
Looking more troubled than a woman ever should, she shook her head and held out a hand. He gave her the phone.
“Put it on speaker,” he told her.
“Fine.”
He knew her disgruntlement came from fear—for herself, and for him. Hoping to soften her temper, he said, “Thank you.”
She sat there just looking at the phone until Denver finally asked, “Do you know the number?”
“No.”
For some reason that made him feel better. Maybe because it meant Carver had truly been removed from her life.
He reached for his wallet and withdrew the slip of paper. “I wrote it down at the hotel when he left the message.”
She took it from him, smoothed it out over her thigh. “Will you just listen? Not interrupt, not speak, not...let Carver know you’re here?”
It was the oddest thing ever, having a woman worry for him. All his life he’d been bigger than most, strong, confident. People sometimes came to him with their concerns, but he couldn’t recall anyone fretting for him since his mother’s death. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll be so quiet he’ll never know I’m here.”
Extreme relief stole the tension from her spine. “It is.”
“Then I’ll be silent.” For now. “But Cherry, if he shows up here, if he even thinks about touching you—”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t.” Before Denver could expound on dire threats, she touched in the numbers.
Her face stark with anxiety, she held the phone in both hands and waited for Carver to answer.
Hoping to soothe her, Denver tucked her hair back, then stroked his hand along her narrow back. Another novel experience, having a naked woman on his lap, making a call to a deranged punk while he promised to stay out of it.
On the fourth ring, Carver said, “Yeah?”
For the longest time, Cherry didn’t speak.