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“For one, she was a tweaked-out cokehead. For another, I would care if you were gone.” He regarded me with anticipation, seeming to want me to acknowledge that, though he hadn’t given me what I demanded, hadn’t given me his decision about what I meant to him, he’d still given me something.

And the something he’d given me did have meaning. It burrowed quickly into my chest, a new hope for me to hold on to.

But I refused to let that show. Because, while it was something, it wasn’t enough.

I hugged my arms around myself. “What do you want me to be, Reeve?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Emily. I didn’t want to want anything from you. It was you who pursued me.”

I reacted quickly. “Have to make sure I remember that, don’t you?”

He cocked his head and looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Are you going to let me talk?”

“Are you actually going to say something useful?”

That glint flashed in his eyes – the one that said he’d like to take a paddle to my ass. I ignored the tingle that sent to my lower regions and held my stance.

His eyes fell to my mouth, to the frown pulling at the corners. He reached his hand out and brushed his thumb across the downturned point. “I do want a deeper relationship with you.”

My lips parted in surprise.

Then his hand dropped. “But I fucked up my last relationship so much that it was barely recognizable in the end. And I’m not sure any future relationship would be any different.”

“Tell me what happened then.” I dropped my arms, desperate to touch him but afraid of losing ground. “Tell me and I can help make sure it doesn’t happen again.” My motive, for once, wasn’t Amber. It was genuinely a plea for us.

He lowered his eyes. “No. It’s the worst of me.”

Here, I did think of Amber. Because it was impossible to hear that he’d done the worst things with her and not think they were actually the worst things a person could do. Not when I knew what had happened to her in the end.

But even though I’d thought about her, I wasn’t sure she mattered anymore.

He glanced up at me again. “I don’t want you to know that.”

“Ever?” When he didn’t respond, I coaxed him. “You can tell me. It’s not going to change anything.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if you know or not.”

We were going in circles. One step forward then one step back. I closed my eyes for a beat and gripped the bedspread behind my back so that I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him.

Then I opened my eyes and asked with finality, “What do you want this to be with me, Reeve? Decide.”

His gaze lingered. He let the flame between us flicker and flare before his attention skidded down, down past my throat, down to where my chest rose and fell with each anxious breath. Again, he reached his hand out to touch me, this time cupping my breast.

Reflexively, I leaned into his palm.

His thumb circled my nipple until it stood erect. Then he trailed his hand down my ribcage. He stepped closer, raising his face toward mine as his hand grazed over my hip. “What do you want?”

There was no need to think before I answered. “Whatever you let me have of you.”

“What if it’s everything?”

“Then I’ll take everything.” Our voices were whispers, as if these kinds of words were easier to say quietly, in hushed tones so that we had to really listen to hear them. And I had heard him. Had heard him and was clinging to his implication. Clinging to the almost promise of everything.

He continued his hand down my satin slip, down to the hem and underneath where he lazily traced up my thigh toward my cunt. In a moment he’d reach my core and then all talking would be over.

But in this moment, I was still thinking of everything. “Is that what you want to offer?”

His focus was already gone. “Right now I want to make you come.”