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She jerked out of her thoughts. “Yes, why?”
“You were staring at me.” He glanced at her, then turned away. “I was worried you might walk into something, or trip over a rock and fall on your pretty little ass,” he said politely.
“I’m fine.” She smoothed her hair. “I thought you’d forgotten how to talk to me, though.”
He flexed his jaw. “Of course not. I just haven’t had anything to say.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” he repeated. “I’m pretty sure we’ve said all there is to say. Aren’t you?”
“Not really.”
“Still going out with Georgie boy Friday night?”
She stiffened. “Yes.”
“Then we’re good on words.” He opened the door for her. “After you, Princess.”
“You’re angry with me,” she said, her voice flat.
“No, I’m not.” He shifted on his feet. “I just don’t mess with other men’s fiancées, is all. It goes against my code.”
She curled her hands into fists. “I’m not his fiancée.”
“Yet.” He cocked his head. “But you’re planning on saying yes.”
“I don’t have—”
“A choice. Yeah, so you said.” He flexed his fingers on the door. Everything he did, everything he said, showed off the power he held barely leashed within his body. “I get it. I really do. But I can’t play a part in this game. I told you I don’t mess with women who belong to other men, and I haven’t.” He paused. “Not since you told me about it, anyway.”
“I haven’t said yes yet,” she said, stopping right in front of him.
“Bullshit technicalities.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he didn’t budge. “After you, Princess Isabelle.”
Walking inside, she looked over her shoulder at him. He had been staring at her butt—until he saw her looking. Then he glanced away. “I saw that.”
“You saw nothing.” He closed the door and caught her elbow. It was the first time he’d touched her since…well, he’d stopped touching her. His touch was still as devastating as she remembered, despite their new professional relationship he was determined to keep. “Look, I’m not pissed at you.”
She blinked. “Pissed? What does that—”
“Angry,” he said impatiently. “What we did together wasn’t wrong. But now that I know you’re taken, it means we can’t do it again. And that sucks, because I liked you.”
She swallowed. “I liked you, too.”
Correction: I like you, too.
He nodded. “We can still be friends, though, if you want. If you still need to talk… I can be your friend. I’ve been quiet, but only because I had to distance myself. I’m good now, though. I’m over it.”
Over it? Over her? If so, he didn’t realize how much that hurt, because she wasn’t over him. Not at all. “Good. I’d like that,” she said.
Even though it hurt to talk past the lump in her throat.
“All right. After your meal, we can get coffee and talk, if you’d like. Somewhere public.”
Somewhere safe, he meant. “All right.”
She walked away from him, not sure what had just happened. He went from being completely professional around her, to telling her they could be friends. Could they? Could they really? Because she still wanted him. Badly.
