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“Um, Becca? Should I, like, go?” the girl faltered.
“No, Cheryl Ann. Mind the desk,” Becca said. “You,” she jerked her chin at Nick. “Come on in here. If you must.”
She would be calm.She was strong now, she told herself. She’d been through the fire, and she’d emerged hardened, tempered. Tough.
For a while, after that awful night, she thought she might never feel again. Anything, good or bad. She’d been relieved at the time. She hadn’t cried since then. Hadn’t crumbled once. She’d kept it together.
She was glad he was behind her on the stairs so he couldn’t see her face. Glad, too, that she was wearing this gauzy blue sundress. Not that she wanted to attract him. But looking nice gave a woman a slight advantage, and she needed every advantage she could get.
He was so…oh, there was no word for how he was. No defense against it. It wasn’t fair, for him to come here and flaunt his mojo at her. Throbbing all those intense male vibes at her on purpose to muddle her and scramble her. Looking at her with his trademark gaze of smoldering volcanic desire. Making her weak with longing.
She couldn’t give in. He was too hard for her. He was a rock that she would break herself on, and she was shipwrecked already. Still in salvage mode, trying to find all the chunks of herself.
She led him into the shabby accounting office above the kitchen space. It was sparsely furnished, just a desk heaped with paperwork and a folding chair. She shut the door.
Nick opened his mouth. She held up her hand to forestall him. “Before we say anything, let’s just get one thing straight. Thank you.”
He frowned. “Huh?”
“Thank you,” she repeated, her voice stiff and mechanical. “I have a lot to be thankful for. What you did on the island, to begin with. Saving Josh and Carrie, and those others. Coming back for me, getting shot for me. It was very brave and noble. Very heroic.”
He waited. “And?”
She threw up her hands. “Isn’t that enough for you?”
“I sense there’s more,” he said. “Let me have it.”
“No,” she said. “There isn’t. That’s the point, Nick. It ends right there. Thank you. Period. Stop.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “It can’t end there.”
“Oh, yes it can,” she said. “I will be the first to admit that you deserve a medal for what you did—”
“But I don’t deserve you?”
Doubt gripped her, anxious, sucking, awful. Oh, God, why did it hurt so much? How could it be so painful just to do the right thing?
She forced herself to remember the dense darkness of the warehouse. The pit of despair she was still trying to climb out of.
Some things could not be forgiven. Ever.
She would always have that darkness in the back of her mind now. She would always be hearing the rustling of the rats, feeling that shrinking helplessness, the rage, the hurt, the horrible fear.
She shook her head. “No, Nick. I can’t do it,” she whispered. “I cannot risk you. You are too dangerous for me.”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “I would die for you. I tried to.”
Her belly contracted in pain. “Oh, God. Stop. Don’t do this to me.”
“I know you’re angry.” His voice was low, careful. “Try to see it from my point of view.”
“No.” She took her hands away from her wet eyes and glared at him. “I’ve given that up. This isn’t about me being angry. This is about me surviving. I have to put my own damn point of view first for that. My point of view wasn’t pretty. I still feel the rats nibbling my shoes.”
A muscle pulsed in his tight jaw. “Jesus, Becca. I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” She turned her back on him.
She didn’t hear him move, but she felt that hot force field buzzing around her, making her hyperaware of his nearness.
