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I snort. “Are you kidding? His husband is the head of my IT department. He’d take away my internet access in a heartbeat if I even think of making eyes at Raoul. Derek is very protective of his little bubbla.”
“Oh.” Ian blinks. “I didn’t know Derek was married.”
I shrug. “Now you do.”
Ian rolls back his sleeves. Seeing the well-defined muscles of his forearm makes my heart skip a beat.
“So, how did your date go last night?”
I purse my lips at the casual question.
Henry is a lawyer. His firm is on the floor above mine, and he is sexy and sweet and funny, so it was only natural to say yes to him when he asked me out last week.
It had been a year since I last went out on a date, or got laid. Part of the reason is my busy schedule, but the actual reason is that the man I’m interested in isn’t interested in me. And anybody else feels like a cheap imitation.
I’d hoped to see some action last night, but mid-date I’d realized that my heart wasn’t into it. So, I left after dinner.
However, I am not going to tell Ian that.
I shrug my shoulders. “It was okay.”
“That’s too bad.”
For some reason, the lightness of his tone pisses me off, and I grit my teeth. “I plan to see him again.”
When I look up, I see him frowning at me. “Why would you see him again if your date didn’t go well?”
“I didn’t say it didn’t go well.” I meet his gaze head-on. Ian doesn’t budge, like an obstinate mule.
“You said ‘okay.’ That word speaks for itself.”
I give him a sharp look. “Well, I have needs, and he seems to be willing to meet them at the moment.”
His green eyes darken, and my breath catches when I think I see a wilder emotion in them, a heated look. It vanishes in a heartbeat, leaving me to think that I only imagined it.
His mouth opens, and the words that come out are like a slap in my face: “Don’t make it that easy for him.”
I turn white at his harsh words and my lips tremble for a moment before I ground myself, staring down at my box for a few heartbeats. Raising my head, I meet his eyes and say in a cold voice, “I think you should leave, Ian.”
Regret fills his eyes, a sincere emotion that makes the barbs sticks in my heart, twist painfully, and he curses softly. “I’m sorry, Agatha. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to be a dick.”
“I don’t care to be called a whore in my home.” My voice is chilly, concealing the hurt underneath the frost.
His jaw tightens, and he growls. “I would never call you a whore!”
I turn my back to him, not wanting him to see the look on my face. “Yes, well. You did.”
He is silent, and then I hear his footsteps, and he crouches next to me on the marble floor, his voice uncharacteristically subdued when he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that.”
I shake my head. “Fine. Whatever. You are still an asshole.”
But I know him. And I know he would never call me that, intentionally.
“Agatha, come on. I’m sorry. I would never call you that. Tell me we’re okay,” he persists.
I make the mistake of looking up and seeing the misery in his gold-flecked green eyes, making my pulse skip a beat.
“Fine. We’re good. Will you get out of my face now?”
