Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [88]
“Oh my God,” she gasped.
Adam stopped her from running after them with a hand on her arm.
“Do something,” she shouted, rounding on him. “You’re supposed to be his boss—make him leave my brother alone.”
“I’ve never been able to control Frankie,” Adam said with a grim twist to his mouth. “Not for a second. I wish I could help.”
Miranda felt her breath coming faster and shorter, the tears she’d held at bay for so long spilling over and searing tracks down her cheeks. Her head throbbed painfully and a harsh, racking sob worked its way up through her chest.
Adam’s arms came around her, familiar and comforting, and Miranda lost herself in his embrace and in the stormy release of crying.
“I’m losing my brother,” she sobbed against his chest.
“Hey, now, no,” Adam said, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “You’re not. It’s only for a night, so everyone can cool off and take a step back.”
“Ha,” Miranda huffed wetly. “I’m sure it’ll all look so much better after a sleepless night of pacing around my empty apartment.” The thought of Jess’s vacant bedroom made Miranda want to curl over herself in pain.
“Yeah, I can see how that might make you broody,” Adam said. “Why don’t you come home with me? I promise to come up with something mindlessly entertaining to distract you long enough to fall asleep.”
Miranda sniffled and pressed her cheek to the somewhat soggy front of Adam’s thin T-shirt. She listened to the steady thump of his heart under her ear and realized how exhausted she was. Nothing like an emotional roller-coaster ride followed by a crying jag. Someone should write a book about it; it could be the new fitness/exercise craze.
It was blissfully tempting, the idea of curling up in Adam’s brick townhouse and letting him take her away from herself, from her problems, from the world.
“Okay,” she whispered, raising her head. Adam immediately kissed her and it felt good even through the stuffy nose, swollen eyes, and spiking headache.
Someone should write a book about that, too, she mused hazily as Adam ran back into the bar to settle the tab and get their things.
Adam Temple: Miracle Cure for What Ails You.
TWENTY-TWO
What a night.
Adam settled Miranda on his lumpy chenille sofa and moved automatically to turn on the stereo. He hesitated briefly over the music selection; something told him Siouxsie and the Banshees might not be particularly welcome at the moment.
Rummaging through his CDs, he came up with a Nina Simone album Grant had given him years ago. Seconds later, the low, smoky tones of Nina’s bluesy voice rasped through the air.
Adam looked over his shoulder at Miranda huddled on the couch. She seemed small and fragile against the overstuffed cushions. Her eyes and nose were red, swollen and tender with the aftermath of tears. She’d appeared shocked by the torrential downpour, as if she weren’t used to letting it all out. Even as he watched, she pressed a furtive hand to her cheeks, the corners of her eyes, and frowned as if dismayed at the evidence of her recent binge.
“It’s all right, you know,” Adam said. “You can cry some more if you want. I might even have real tissues in the bathroom, so you won’t have to use my shirt.”
She smiled, as he meant her to, but it was fleeting. Moments later, the pensive look was back.
Adam didn’t want to crowd her, but he didn’t think she should be alone, either. After some deliberation, he perched on the arm of the sofa, facing her. At first, Miranda wouldn’t look at him, and his gut clenched at the volumes her stubborn solitude spoke about the kind of support system she was used to.
There had been a moment when she’d leaned on him, though, when she’d turned to him and let him hold her, and he was hanging on to that memory with everything he had. This was a woman coming apart like an overcooked sauce, separating into an ungodly mess right before his eyes.
“I’m sick of crying,” she said. “It’s an impractical response to a problem.”
“Maybe, but don’t you feel better after?”
She blinked up at him. Adam wanted