“What would you have done if I refused to bring it to you?” She tipped her head to the side, her eyes hooded.
“I would have called my mother’s doctor and begged him to send through a script, and probably asked the kitchen to make me a protein based meal.” He wrinkled his nose. “I guess at the worst I would have called my mom directly and opened myself up for a barrage of recriminations.” He smiled again. “But luckily I didn’t have to.
His legs were beginning to ache, but he didn’t want to sit down. The distance between where she was sitting and he was standing was necessary right now.
“Do you always inject in your hip?” Her gaze dropped to his abdomen. He bit down a smile at the way her cheeks flushed at the memory.
“No. I inject in a lot of places. My outer arms, my thighs, either side of my abdomen. The trick is to not inject in the same place too many times, otherwise it causes problems. A build up of fat will stop the body from absorbing the insulin.”
“Why do you keep your diabetes a secret?” She lifted her chin, looking at him carefully. There was something in her gaze that made him want to breathe her in. To touch her, to kiss her.
Damn it, he needed to get under control.
“I wasn’t expecting this many questions.” It was a joke, but it fell short. She lifted an eyebrow, giving him a pointed stare.
“I just drove two hours to give you life saving drugs. I figure I’m owed an explanation.”
He exhaled softly, still drinking her in. “You are. And it’s not a secret, I just don’t want everybody knowing my business.”
“Why not? It’s an illness not a weakness.”
Daniel gave a short laugh. “You obviously didn’t grow up with my father.”
Becca blinked, opening her mouth, then closing it again. For a moment there was silence between them. It screamed louder than their voices.
“How old were you when you found out you were diabetic?” Her voice was like a gentle caress.
“Seven.”
“That’s young.” Her eyes were soft, too. “It must have been hard.”
Yeah, it was. But he didn’t want to talk about that. It was water under the bridge.
“I’ve learned to live with it. I have to take care when I’m sick, and if I get an injury it can be a pain. But it’s part of me now.”
She was looking at him carefully. Like she had a question she didn’t want to ask. Daniel felt himself smiling again. She was so damn mercurial. One minute shouting at him, the next minute pulling back.
It was enticing. And exciting. Who didn’t love the chase?
“What is it?” he asked her, eyeing her carefully.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I said I’d answer your questions. So hit me with them.” He ran a finger along his jaw, the roughness reminding him he hadn’t shaved this morning.
“The diabetes. Is that why you’re so…” She drew in a deep breath, as though to arm herself. “So cranky sometimes.”
Daniel burst out laughing. “No, Becca,” he said, shaking his head. “The asshole is one hundred percent me. Nothing to do with diabetes.”
“Sometimes when you look at me, your eyes are so dark I think you’re going to murder me.”
They were? “If I murdered you, I wouldn’t be able to ask you for help when I forget my insulin,” he said lightly. A ping from the elevator made him exhale with relief. Saved by the food. “That’s our sandwiches. Are we finished, or do you have anything else to ask?” He looked at her over his shoulder as he walked to the lobby.
“I’m finished, for now. But I may have more questions later.”
He bit down a smile, relieved she couldn’t see her face. “Something to look forward to,” he murmured.
Chapter Eleven