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She swallowed. “I’m awful,” she whispered.
He reached out to smooth a lock of her hair back, his eyes deep and somber. She flinched away from his touch.
He let his hand drop.
“That’s what I figured,” he said.
She winced. “That bad, huh?”
He shook his head. “No. You’re gorgeous, Becca.”
“Oh, please.” She twitched aside the kitchen curtains to peek out the window, a gesture that had become compulsive. “Get real.”
“No, really,” he persisted. “You look like a beautiful woman who’s hiding. But you can’t hide from me. Not now.” He moved up behind her and kissed the back of her neck. “I’ve watched you burn like a house on fire. You can’t cancel that out of my head. Don’t even try.”
She shuddered at the tender touch. “Look, Nick.” The words burst out of her violently. “Don’t bother to come on to me, OK?”
He kissed her nape again. “Why not?”
“Because I know that story. I know how it ends. I am not going to do that to myself again. So go. Just piss off. Good-bye.”
His snort of laughter exploded against her sensitive neck, hot and ticklish. “Tough babe,” he murmured. “I’m devastated.”
“You are not. Do not condescend to me, you bastard.”
He stroked her shoulders and the heat of his palms burned right through the flannel. Gripping her, with gentle, implacable strength. “Heartless Becca,” he murmured. “You mean, all my heroics count for nothing? I’ve got no points racked up with you at all?”
She wrenched away so violently she almost lost her balance, and wrapped her arms tightly around her shaky, uncertain self. “Let me get this straight—this owing you sex in exchange for my life thing. How long is the statute of limitations on that?”
He circled around in front of her, eyes gleaming. “It’s indefinite.”
She blinked at him, outmaneuvered. “You manipulative jerk.”
“Uh-oh. You’ve figured me out,” he said. “I am so fucked.”
“Ah, no, in fact. You’re not. Or rather. You won’t be.” Her back hit the wall, bumping against the rack where all her utensils hung. A ladle and the cheese grater slid off and clattered to the floor. “Got that?”
He looked wistful. “I’ve got that.”
His meekness made her suspicious. She waited for him to go. He started shrugging off his jacket.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, panic edging her voice.
He flung his jacket over the back of a chair, revealing a plain black polo shirt that did nothing to hide his unbelievable physique. “You got a problem with me sitting down in your kitchen?”
“Why?” Her voice was getting shrill. “What are you going to do?”
He looked elaborately helpless. “You tell me. What do a man and a woman do together when they’re not having crazy monkey sex? The imagination boggles. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten this far in a relationship with a girl. Not past the monkey sex, I mean.”
“Don’t you dare make fun of me, Nikolai—”
“We could argue about money,” he suggested. “I think that’s a big classic. Or maybe we could just, I don’t know. Have some dinner?”
“Dinner?” She squinted at him. “Are you being facetious?”
“I wouldn’t mind dinner,” he said innocently. “Got any food?”
She started shaking, with jittery laughter. It was too weird. A feral, mythical being from that dangerous otherworld she’d accidentally visited was smashing through the barriers of her bland little life. Sitting down at her kitchen table, and demanding to be fed.
