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"No."
He turned so quickly toward her that the force knocked her hand away. "You're not in love with me, and this game between us is done."
"I haven't been playing a game," she insisted. His stubborn expression didn't budge, so Marissa went to her knees on the carpet and look one of his hands between hers. "Jude, listen—"
"Don't do that, Get up."
She held tighter. "Whatever my faults, whether I'm shallow or wicked or selfish, when have I ever lied to you? When?"
"Get up."
"This isn't a game, Jude."
He stood and pulled her to her feet as well. "It is a game. Don't you understand that?"
Marissa's whole body turned cold for a split second, as if she'd moved through a draft in the room. "What do you mean?"
He let go of her arms and pushed past her to stalk across the floor.
"Jude? What do you mean that it's a game?" Her frozen body was thawing now, and shaky pain revealed itself. "You were pretending?"
"No!" he snapped. "I wasn't pretending anything. I liked you, and I thought I could help you."
"And nothing more?"
"Oh, there was more. I thought if I teased you enough, if I made you want me, then you might marry me happily. And look. It worked."
Marissa choked back the lightness of tears in her throat. "I don't understand."
Jude began to pace, his hands moving in brutal gestures as he spoke. "I wanted to trick you into liking me, Marissa. I knew I could do it. You're passionate and curious and alive. But I don't want that anymore. I want something more."
"Something more than me?"
"Something more than lust and whatever affection can be gleaned from that. I've had lust, Marissa. I am not so hard to want, despite what you may think."
That snapped her back out of her fear. He hadn't lied to her. He'd never made any bones about his intentions. What he was confessing wasn't the truth about what he'd done. He was confessing that she'd hurt him.
"So you needn't be surprised by your lust," he snapped. "I'm not. That was the entire point."
"I know you are not hard to want, Jude. Believe me, I know that. But I know you are worth more than lust too. I'm so sorry for what I said. It wasn't that I thought no one could love you—"
"You have no idea the difference between love and hist. You've said so yourself."
"When?"
"When you spoke of Charles and your affair."
"I was seventeen! I am a woman now, and I can see beyond your body!"
"I certainly hope so, as you don't much care for it."
Marissa blinked at his muttered words. She looked him up and down and shook her head in utter shock. 'Jude Bertrand, are you pouting?"
His eyes snapped to her. "Pardon?"
"Are you pouting because I don't think you're pretty?"
"Don't be ridiculous," he growled, but she caught a hint or a flush creeping up his neck.
