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“There’s nothing to resolve.”
That made her flinch. “Don’t. Don’t pretend nothing happened.” Now it was the Malvia he’d first fallen for…met…looking back at him, her cheeks tinged with color, her eyes bright with anger. “Be better than denial, Benson.”
“Denial?” He pushed away from the wall. “I’m not the one in denial.”
“Ah, of course. Because it turns out I needed something you didn’t agree with—”
“Bullshit. Don’t put that one on me.”
“Don’t belittle my needs by calling them bullshit.”
“Your needs aren’t the problem.”
“Then what is?”
He opened his mouth, but closed it quickly, biting back the words.
“Oh.” She nodded slowly, face twisted in an ugly expression. “Oh, of course. It’s me. I’m the problem, aren’t I?”
There was venom in her words. Last night he’d spoken without thinking, but here in the light of day he wouldn’t make the same mistake.
When he didn’t reply, Malvia took a step towards him.
“If scening with me is that abhorrent to you, I’ll resign my membership. It’s not fair that you’d be the one to go.”
He shook his head. “No. If you left Las Palmas, you’d—”
Despite his resolution of a moment ago, he cut the words off a second too late.
“I’d what?” She blinked, head tipped to the side in mock ignorance. “Do something dangerous? Something stupid?”
He should walk away.
Fuck. Why couldn’t he walk away from her? He’d done it before. But this morning, like last night, he couldn’t.
Benson’s control didn’t break, but it slipped. He carefully set the coffee cup down, and when he straightened, her body language had shifted to alert…wary.
“Yes.” Benson stalked toward her, stepping into her personal space and crowding her so she fell back a pace. “You’d do something dangerously stupid if you left. I can find someone else to scene with safely.”
“Fuck you and your holier-than-thou pity.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Yes.” She held her ground but she didn’t meet his gaze.
“Am I, Mal?” When there was no answer, he softened his tone. “It’s not pity. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“I don’t need you to keep me safe,” she snapped.
A hot, panicky feeling filled him. Benson wanted to shake her. To turn her over his knee and spank some fucking sense into her. He wanted to kiss her until she stopped being so reckless.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t, touch her. He had no right. But he also couldn’t just walk away from this conversation.
Benson leaned into her, forcing her back one step. Then another.
She hissed out a breath when her back hit the wall. He caged her there, planting his hands beside her shoulders. He looked down into her eyes. He could see details—the whiskey gold ring of color around her pupils that darkened to brown at the outer edge of her pupils.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Mal.”
