Which turns to hurt.
"No, don’t." I capture her jaw, my thumb grazing the soft heat of her cheek. I need the friction of her skin to ground me, but the contact only makes the static in my head scream louder. "It’s not that I don’t want you."
"Funny." She flinches, a jagged little movement that slices through my chest. "Because from my position, it feels exactly like a rejection."
She sends me a wary glance. She’s flustered, and I don’t blame her.
If I tell her the truth, the ice breaks. And if the ice breaks, I drown.
"I have…issues. Stuff I need to filter through before I can become the kind of person you need."
"No kidding." She pulls away.
I let her. And miss having her in my arms.
Amber flecks in her eyes dance with defiance and hurt. The air between us is a physical weight, thick with the scent of her skin.
I lock my jaw until my teeth ache and tamp down on my feelings.
We don't speak for the rest of the trip. Every time she casts a glance my way, I feel it like a burn on my skin, but I keep my eyes locked on the passing scenery.
I can’t look at her. If I do, the crack in the ice around my heart will widen, and I’ll haul her back into my arms.
And fuck, I’m not ready to do that. Yet. I’m not yet ready to be completely vulnerable to her. To let her find out about my disorder.
I’m conflicted. I want her. I’m attracted to her. But I’m nervous about the consequences of acting on it.
Thankfully, the driver pulls up in front of my apartment building. I’m out of the car and at her door. I open it, and when I hold out my hand, she hesitates before taking it. I help her out. Then lead her inside to the elevator. The ride up to my penthouse is another few seconds of being in an enclosed space with her. Smelling her, feeling the hurt which still vibrates off her. Wanting to take her in my arms again and comfort her.
I wish I were a better man who could acknowledge the depth of what it is I feel for her.
But I’ve spent years turning a blind eye to my feelings. So, my realizations sit in my throat, cold and constricting.
Once inside my penthouse we walk as one toward the stairs. I could offer her a nightcap. But nope, I’m not going to risk that either. She climbs the steps. I follow her to the door of her bedroom. She steps in and turns to shut the door in my face. But I can’t let her go. I want a few more seconds with her.
"Are you okay?"
She looks away, taking her time, which I use to compose myself. When she raises her gaze to mine, there’s hurt, mixed with frustration.
The band around my chest tightens.
"Harper?" I swallow.
She shakes her head. "I won’t lie. I’m confused. And embarrassed."
I lean an arm against the doorframe. "You have no need to be embarrassed."
She scoffs. "I kissed you. We made out in the back of the car, and I came." Pink stains her cheekbones.
"And it was beautiful."
"Someone could have seen us." She rubs at her temple.
"I raised the privacy screen. The windows were tinted," I point out, "and we're married. It doesn’t matter if someone did see us."
"Yeah." She blows out breath. "I suppose. But I’ve never orgasmed in a car before."
"I like it that you let go. I like that I could make you climax. You make me come very close to losing control too. You affect me Harper.”
