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She wanted to weep with humiliation. That she, of all people, would do such a thing. She’d grown up with a mother whose attitude toward men had devolved to something about as complicated as her attitude toward potato chips.
Why have just one if more are available?
As for her … she wasn’t a virgin. She wasn’t some sad little innocent. She’d had sex before.
A few times …
Very few.
The truth was, she was on the pill to regulate her menstrual cycle, not for anything more exciting.
For one crazy second, she thought of telling him that.
And almost laughed.
What would she say? I’m not the kind of girl who has sex up against a truck with a man I’ve known for five minutes….
But she was. And there was no explanation for it that would make her feel better.
“Look,” he said, his tone conciliatory, “I know you’re upset….”
She took one quick look at his face, all hard angles and planes in the moonlight, and then she turned away.
The flashlight lay at their feet, still lit, the beam illuminating—she shuddered—illuminating what remained of her panties and one shoe.
What had become of the other?
As if it mattered.
She bent. So did he. His hand closed on hers as she reached for the flashlight. She pulled her hand free, picked up the light and the scrap of silk that was proof of her shame.
“Dammit,” he growled, “talk to me!”
She looked at him. The muscle in his jaw was flickering. What did he expect her to say? Thank you for the good time?
“Listen, lady, I’m not going to let you pretend this didn’t happen.”
“You’re not going to let me pretend this didn’t happen?” Addison tossed her tangled curls back from her eyes. “Here’s a news flash, Captain. What I do or don’t do isn’t up to you!”
He caught her by the wrist again; she gasped as he pulled her closer. “We’re a little past the ‘Captain’ routine. And, yeah, you’re damned right, what you do is none of my business.”
“I’m glad we agree,” she said coldly.
The pressure on her wrist increased; he tugged her the last few inches toward him until there was virtually no space separating them at all.
“But there’s no way I’m going to let you look at me as if I forced you to do this. We made love,” he said bluntly. “Why can’t you accept that?”
“We had sex,” she snapped. “And if you don’t know the difference, I feel sorry for you.”
The quick change in his expression terrified her. She stared up at him. Even in her stilettos, she’d had to look up to see his face.
Now, she had to tilt her head back.
It made her feel powerless.
“Do not,” he said, very softly, “do not ever make the mistake of feeling sorry for me.”
His hand fell from hers. He turned on his heel, swung the Tundra’s door open and climbed behind the wheel.
