Page 51 of The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

“I don’t remem—oh, I ate something right before you texted.”

“What was it?”

She was not telling him. He’d probably act like her mother and chastise her. That was the last thing she needed right now.

He brushed his fingers along her jaw before clasping her face in his palm and tipping her head back. A butterfly-light kiss teased her lips. “You smell like chocolate. Did you have candy for dinner, Stella?”

“Not candy. A protein bar. There are vitamins and stuff in it.”

“You’re coming with me. Don’t argue. I’m going to feed you.” He walked her to her car, which was parked not far away, and by that time, she was simply too tired to protest.

The doors unlocked when they sensed the key fob in her purse, and she sat in the passenger seat. She fumbled for the seat belt, but he caught it and buckled her in with sure movements. He got in on the other side and pulled out of the parking lot.

The motion of the car lulled Stella into a drowsy half slumber, and it was several minutes before she realized he’d left downtown and headed across the freeway. “Where are we going?”

“Back to my mom’s.”

A surge of adrenaline burned the sleepiness out of Stella’s head, and she sat up in her seat, wide awake. “What? Why?”

“There’s a lot of food there. My mom had me cook for like a hundred people last night.”

She adjusted her glasses as her heart started ramping up for takeoff. “I’d really like to go home.”

“Do you have anything to eat at your place?”

“I have yogurt. I’ll eat it. I promise.”

He shook his head as he released a tight huff of breath. “I’ll feed you quick and then take you home.”

Before she could think up a suitable response, he pulled into the driveway of the little gray house. When he opened the door, she could hear the same music carrying faintly on the wind. She gripped her seat belt like a lifeline.

; “I can’t handle the TV tonight,” she confessed in a pained whisper. After last night, her usual tolerance was gone. She’d fall apart and scare everyone. Michael would change his mind about the arrangement—she still couldn’t believe he didn’t want to cancel. Or he’d start walking on eggshells around her, which was worse.

“Hold on a minute.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and typed in something on the screen.

Within moments, the music stopped.

“You made them turn it off? Won’t your mom and grandma be unhappy they can’t watch their shows?” Her entire body flamed with embarrassment. She despised it when people had to make changes for her.

He gave her a funny look. “It’s just TV.”

“I don’t like it when people have to act differently for me.”

“We don’t mind.” He walked around to her side, opened the door, and held his hand out. “Will you come in?”

* * *

• • •

When Stella’s small hand landed in his palm, the hard knot of tension in Michael’s gut loosened, but an awful brew of guilt and sadness continued to eat at him.

She looked terrible. Her bun was off-center, and messy strands framed her drawn face. Her normally bright, expressive eyes were dim, swollen, and shadowed. His heart dipped when he realized she must have cried a lot to make them that way. He’d made her cry.

This was not his Stella.

Well, the sweatiness of her hand was all Stella. He squeezed gently and led her to the front porch.