“Thank you,” Joanna said on a nod. “I’m ever grateful. If you have it, I would really like to get it by next week. If that’s doable.”

Casey stepped in. “We’ll get back to you. Thank you for stopping by. We have a plane to catch,” she said, then she wrapped her hand protectively around his arm, and the way she touched him made all his anger dissipate. It was like a pin deflating a balloon, and all he felt now was some kind of calm, some kind of peace.

They walked into his building quietly. Once they stepped into the elevator, he pressed the button for the top floor, leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Her warm body pressed against his. It wasn’t sexual, and it wasn’t the start of something. It was simply comforting, and he needed it, so he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.

“I’m sorry you had to see her,” she whispered.

“Me too,” he said. “But I’m glad you were here.”

“Do you want me to look for that sculpture? So you don’t have to? I can be the one to return it to her.”

He pulled back momentarily. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. Unless you want to drop it from a window and smash it on the sidewalk. I’m completely fine with that too.”

He grinned briefly. Only Casey could do this for him. Take him in all these directions. Take him through lust and passion, through business and babies, and then from rage to laughter in mere seconds. He didn’t deserve her, but oh, how he wanted to give her what she needed from a man.

16

Over the Atlantic . . .

Maybe Kat was right, because the spell Joanna had worked on Nate still seemed to be going strong. He was quiet most of the flight, chatting only briefly with her and with a few of his employees who were sharing the plane. He also slept across most of the Atlantic, and so did she. But they were both awake now and he was more subdued than usual, bordering on sullen. She certainly didn’t expect him to be a barrel of monkeys, or to be flirtatious with her in front of everyone, but she knew that he wasn’t himself, and that he hadn’t quite yet emerged from his Joanna funk. He’d been nose-down in his laptop for the last hour as the sun rose across the Atlantic.

His frown was like a cut in her skin. It burned, and she wanted the cure. She wanted to seal off the pain, and feel good again. That was wholly selfish, she knew, but there it was. More so, her heart lurched towards him, and she desperately wanted to ease his mind, to be the one to take him away from this sadness his ex-wife had draped over him. She could be that person, right? She knew this man, and she knew him even better now that they’d been spending these nights together. She could be his Sherpa and guide him up and over this mountain of gloom.