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“Then help me understand. You wanted me to kiss you last night, Erica.”
She swallowed. “I did. But it’s not that simple.”
His eyes darkened. “How is it not that simple?”
“Can’t you just accept that when a woman says no, she means no?” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
He looked stricken, but he nodded. “You’re right. You don’t.” He dropped his hands away and retreated a step. “So you really want me to leave. You don’t even want to try to make something between us work out.”
Damn it. That look on his face was the same as that look all those years ago, when she’d stared at him and hadn’t been able to say anything. Like she’d ripped his heart out and crushed it in her fist. It was that look that had made her run away before. She hadn’t been able to stand that she’d hurt the boy she loved so much with her clumsy confusion.
And she couldn’t stand that she’d hurt the man she ached for with her careful, defensive half-truths and lies.
He turned away.
“Jeremy,” she said, and laid her hand on his arm. When he turned back, she reached up, captured his face in her palms, drew him down, and kissed him.
She caught a glimpse of his fierce, stormy look before his mouth seized hers and he kissed her with a hunger and heat that made her dizzy. Last night had been all about taking it slow and easy. Today, he teased her with his tongue until her legs refused to support her and her fingers dug into his shoulders.
He backed her up until her shoulders hit the stucco wall. His hands were everywhere; her hips, her hair, her waist, caressing her feverishly. Every light stroke, every brush of his body, made her burn hotter. Desperately so. Desperate for him. His breaths came in harsh pants as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.
She hadn’t known this feeling in years. This bliss, this completion, this near-painful knowledge that she couldn’t go on without the man at her side. Seven years. Seven years since she’d felt so right, with Jeremy in her life. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it until now. She was ready to give him everything, right then and there…until he grasped her shirt and dragged it up.
Icy fear doused her ardor. She shoved out of his arms, turned away, and yanked her shirt back down. Her vision blurred. She covered her face. She couldn’t be this weak in front of him. He’d only pity her later. She didn’t need his pity.
She didn’t need anything from him at all.
“You should go,” she whispered, her throat tight.
He clasped her shoulders and spun her to face him so quickly she stumbled. His jaw was hard, his eyes even harder. “You’re only pushing me away again because you’re scared. What if I refuse to go? What if I refuse to let you win this time?”
“Then I’ll get a damned restraining order!” She swallowed hard and forced her lips to speak words her heart didn’t want to say. “I don’t want this. I don’t need this in my life. You need to leave. Now.”
For a few moments, he stared at her in silence. Then he turned and walked out of the room, into the foyer, and out the front door, without ever looking back. The door slammed shut, echoing through the empty house. She flinched.
Tears ran down her face. She scrunched her eyes tightly shut. He might be angry now, but he’d thank her if he knew the truth. She’d saved them both from that awkward moment when he realized what she was, and backpedaled so fast he might as well be on fire. No one would stay once they saw her. Her stupid fiancé had run, too. Stupid perfect Nathan with his stupid perfect life, and his not-so-perfect now-ex future wife.
She couldn’t let her guard down again, though she’d been tempted. Been tempted, and resisted. She’d been strong. As strong as she had to be.
It hurt more than she cared to admit.
Chapter Four
Jeremy stalked into the Bellagio and wondered if he had the fortitude left to handle another fight. He might welcome it right now. A few more bruises. Some dickhead squid getting his ass handed to him. Jeremy was too keyed up to lose right now, even if he knew damned well he’d be an idiot to get into a fight again. Then again, he’d been an idiot pretty much since he set foot in Vegas. What else was new?
Why did he keep making a fool of himself with that woman? Was he acting out some repressed, self-destructive need to prove to himself—and her—what a hopeless mess he’d always been and always would be? Of course she wouldn’t want him. She was kind, successful, and beautiful. He was a screw-up. The very idea was laughable.
But he damn well didn’t feel like laughing.
The constant clack of coins and chime of the slot machines pounded through his throbbing skull, amplifying his headache tenfold. Son of a bitch. He needed to get the hell out of this joint and back to base. So much for the dream Vegas vacation. After the last few days, he’d gladly trade the wild sex and cheap liquor for a quiet room and a cup of tea.
Maybe he’d knit a few tea cozies, too, or a few little booties. He could stuff his balls in them, since he clearly didn’t need them anymore.
He shoved through the crowd and toward the bar. He needed to get over this. He’d been through this once before, and there was no need to go through the whole damned downward spiral again. He’d known Erica didn’t and never would love him. There were plenty of women in Vegas to fill the gap. A stranger might be faceless, loveless…but she’d let him forget for a few hours, until he could start to forget for the rest of his life.
He slid onto a barstool. When the pretty bartender approached and gave him a sly once-over, he grinned. Her short blond hair couldn’t be any further from the luxurious brown hair that, even now, he ached to bury his fingers in. Perfect.
“Ma’am. Think I could get a scotch?”
