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“Me! What about you?”
He didn’t say anything. Instead his hand went to the snap on his jeans.
“Stop right there.”
“Let’s not.” His zipper fell open in a V, revealing a bare, flat stomach. “The book’s done.”
“It is?”
“And I can’t quit thinking about you.”
Her emotions tangled into a knot. She wanted him so much. But something was terribly wrong. If his book was finished, he should be relieved. Instead he seemed haunted, and she needed to find out why. “Zip your pants, cowboy,” she said quietly. “We need to talk first.”
“The hell we do.” He kicked off his shoes, whipped away the blankets covering her, and gazed down at the ice-blue nightgown twisted high on her thighs. “Nice.” He peeled off his jeans.
“No.”
“Just be quiet, will you?” He reached for the hem of her gown.
“We’re going to talk.” She started to pull away, but he snared the skirt of her nightgown, holding her in place.
“Later.”
She clamped her fingers around his wrist. “I’m not into recreational sex, not with you.”
He let her go abruptly and slapped the wall above her head with the flat of his hand. “How about mercy fucking then? Are you into mercy fucking, because if you are, you’ve got yourself one hell of an opportunity here.”
She saw the pain he couldn’t hide, and her heart ached. “Oh, Jake.”
The shutters banged shut. “Forget it!” He grabbed his jeans and shoved his legs into them. “Forget I was ever here.” He snatched up his shirt and headed into the hallway.
“Wait!” She pushed herself out of bed, only to get tangled in the cast-off blankets. By the time she freed herself, her front door had slammed. She heard the thud of his feet on the steps leading to the attic. She remembered the deep shadows under his eyes, the feeling of desperation rolling off him. Without thinking it through, she went into the hallway and up the stairs to the attic.
The door was locked against her. “Open up.”
Nothing but silence came from the other side.
“I mean it, Jake. Open this door right now.”
“Go away.”
She swore under her breath and went back downstairs to get her key. By the time she got his door unlocked, she was shaking.
He sat on the unmade bed, leaning against the headboard with a bottle of beer propped on his bare chest and his jeans still unzipped. His hostility crackled like dry ice. “You ever heard of tenant’s rights?”
“You don’t have a lease.” She stepped over his shirt, which lay crumpled on the floor, and walked toward him. When she reached the bed, she studied him, trying to read his mind, but all she saw were the harsh lines of exhaustion around his mouth and the desperation that had etched itself into the shadows under his eyes. “If anybody needs mercy,” she said quietly, “it’s me. It’s been a long time.”
His expression tightened, and she realized right away that he wasn’t going to make this easy for himself. He’d revealed too much need, and now he had to throw up some camouflage. He took a swig of beer and looked at her as if she were a cockroach who’d just crawled across his floor. “Maybe some poor slob would take you to bed if you weren’t such a ballbuster.”
She’d love to take a swing at him, but he was only capable of self-destruction tonight, and she suspected that’s what he wanted. “It’s not like I haven’t had plenty of offers.”
“I’ll just bet you have.” He sneered. “Pretty boys with Cuisinarts and BMWs.”
“Among others.”
“How many?”
Why couldn’t he just admit he needed her instead of putting them both through this? She had to stay in charge of this dangerous game he wanted to play. “Dozens,” she replied. “Hundreds.”
