Kincaid had said his thanks to both and turned to go when Deveney touched him on the arm and said quietly, “Your sergeant-Gemma. She’s not married, I take it?”
It was a moment before Kincaid found his tongue, managed to say reasonably enough, “No. No, she’s not.”
“Is she… um, unattached, then?”
“That,” said Kincaid through clenched teeth, “is something you’ll have to ask her yourself.”
CHAPTER 3
The hurt had been evident on his face. Gemma hadn’t expected it, and it had almost caused her to lose her resolve. During the days she’d spent hiding at her sister’s, watching Toby play in the park with his cousins and thinking furiously of what she should do, she’d managed to convince herself that he would be glad to ignore what had happened, relieved, even grateful. So she had prepared her little speech, giving him a graceful out that he would accept with a slightly embarrassed grin, and rehearsed it so often in her mind she could almost hear him saying, “Of course, you’re absolutely right, Gemma. We’ll just go on as before, shall we?”
Experience should have taught her that Duncan Kincaid never quite behaved as expected. Shivering a little in the cold room, she turned back the bed and laid out her nightdress. She fumbled in her carryall until she found the zip bag containing her toothbrush and cleanser and turned resolutely towards the door.
Then suddenly, limply, she sat down on the edge of the bed. How could she have been foolish enough, in the days that had passed like aeons since the night at his flat, to think she could grant herself an instant immunity to his physical presence? Memory had flooded back with a jolt like a boxer’s punch the moment she saw him, leaving her breathless and shaken. It had been all she could do to hold on to her wavering defenses, and now she couldn’t bear the thought of bumping into him in the corridor outside her room. She had no armor left-a kind word, a gentle touch, and she would be undone.