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Then he reaches over, takes my coffee from my hand, and sets it aside before backing me slowly against the counter.

My pulse jumps instantly.

“You done?” he asks.

“Probably not.”

“Too bad.”

I glare up at him. “See? This is exactly what I mean. You just bulldoze over everything.”

“No,” he says quietly. “I bulldoze over stupid things.”

“That’s insulting.”

“It’s accurate.”

I try to push at his chest. He catches both my wrists easily and pins them lightly against the counter beside my hips.

Not rough.

Certain.

The heat in his eyes turns my thoughts unreliable immediately.

“I’m trying to have a rational conversation,” I mutter.

“You’re trying to run again.”

That lands harder than I want it to.

“I’m not running.”

“You’re standing in my kitchen explaining why wanting me isn’t real because you’re scared it is.”

My breath catches.

God, I hate when he does that.

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s true.”

His grip loosens slightly but he doesn’t let me go completely, his thumbs brushing the inside of my wrists while he watches me too closely.

“You wanna know the problem with you, city girl?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“You think feelings only count if they happen slow enough.”

I blink at him.

“What?”

“You trust fear more than you trust peace.” His voice lowers. “You think because this hit hard, it can’t be real.”

I open my mouth.