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Realization dawned in his eyes as bewilderment gave way to concern. “But we haven’t discussed a relationship.”
“Yet.”
Shaking his head, he braced against the bench top with his arms and her traitorous body gave a lurch at the way his pecs stood out, the same way they had when he’d been propped over her last night, satisfying her every desire.
“Okay, so you’re right. I do want to talk about us and where we’re going. In fact, I wanted to do it last night but we got sidetracked.”
His eyes darkened to stormy at the memory of what they’d shared, of how amazing it had been and she blinked, needing to dispel the intimate spell that had descended on them the minute he mentioned last night.
Ignoring the intense regret stabbing her conscience, she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “But that’s just it. We’re not going anywhere. There is no us.”
The tiny scar above his right eye twitched, a similar action she’d seen several times when he’d been stressed at work.
“Nice try, but I’m not buying it. You can’t fake what we have.”
“And what’s that? A bit of chemistry?”
His jaw clenched, his biceps bulging further as he gripped the bench top tighter. “There’s more to it than a simple attraction between us and you know it.”
Determined to put an end to this before the sting behind her eyes turned into a waterfall, she shrugged as if she didn’t give a damn. “What I know is we don’t have a hope of sustaining a relationship or whatever it is you think we might have going here. It would never work.”
“Coward.” He pushed off the bench top and crossed the kitchen in two seconds flat to take hold of her upper arms, his touch wreaking as much havoc as his words. “How can you say we wouldn’t work if you’re too damn chicken to try?”
Beth couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, with his hands touching her, even in an innocuous way. Her skin prickled beneath his hands, wanting more, needing more, and she struggled to break free only to have him hold on tighter.
“You’re not walking out of here until we settle this,” he said, his grim expression at odds with the hurt in his eyes.
Swallowing the emotion lodged firmly in her throat, she knew there was only one way to end this. She had to hurt him badly enough for him to let her go.
“Fine. You want to settle this?” She tilted her chin up, her heart sinking at the flicker of hope in his unwavering stare. “I said we wouldn’t work to lighten the blow. What I really meant was, I could never go for a guy like you, a desk jockey who’s content to give up his dream to settle for second best.”
She wriggled in his arms, hating what she had to do, hating the pain in his eyes, but most of all, hating herself for not having the guts to shake off every inbuilt self-preservation mechanism that stopped her from taking a risk on a fantastic guy like him.
“And that’s what the museum is to you, second best. I see it when you drag your ass in there every morning. I see it every time you have to resolve some pissy little problem. Your eyes light up with fire when you check out some of those old exhibits in a way they never have in a staff meeting.”
Or when they checked out her, but she couldn’t go there, couldn’t think about it now. Not when she was so close to achieving what she’d set out to do. Anger warred with shock in his incredible grey eyes so she took advantage of his surprise and shrugged off his hands.
“I’m living my life the way I want to, Aidan. Can you say the same?”
She had no intention of waiting around for his answer, but as she swiveled toward the door he made a strange, almost strangled sound that had her turning back.
“You’re wrong about me,” he said, a hint of steel underlying his grim pronouncement, the tiny scar near his eyebrow giving an infinitesimal flicker as he frowned.
“Am I?”
She forced her feet to move, determined to ignore the pain in her chest, the deep seated ache that belied every word she’d uttered, the soul-deep certainty that for once in her life she should’ve taken a chance on love.
* * *
Aidan didwhat he’d always done when he needed to blow off steam: he dug.
After grabbing an old shovel of his dad’s, he headed into the backyard and stabbed at the soil in the overgrown veggie patch, enjoying the bite of steel in his instep as he pushed down on the shovel, relishing the twinge in his back as he hoisted a monstrous clump of dirt and flung it as far as he could.
He repeated the action over and over, the mindless repetition soothing as always. With every clump he overturned, his tension dissipated, until he leaned forward on the shovel and wiped his brow, sweat pouring off him, feeling lighter than he had in months.
He should’ve been angry after Beth’s tirade. Hell, he should’ve been downright fuming after everything she’d said. Instead, with the sun beating down on him and his muscles aching like they hadn’t in ages, all he could think was how right she’d been.
He hadn’t been truly happy since he’d taken over as CEO at the museum and he missed the hands-on digging and discovery work more than he’d thought possible.
