7
“G
oddammit,” he snapped as he tried to overtake her. “Do you sharpen your elbows in your spare time?”
Because of her strategic deployment of those elbows to block his path, Helen made it around the outside of the building first. Normally, she'd frown on taking advantage of Wes's unwillingness to hurt her, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Not so much desperate, actually. More like livid. So livid, in fact, that she could feel her rapid pulse throbbing behind her eyeballs. And she embraced the fury to its fullest extent, knowing what lay in wait for her when that anger was spent.
Pain. Hurt. Disappointment.
She was a fucking idiot. She should have known. She
had
known, but she'd continued to play with fire for two months. She'd flicked lit match after lit match onto the bone-dry tinder of her heart and hoped it wouldn't be set ablaze.
Sure, she hadn't let him touch her. She hadn't asked or answered personal questions. She hadn't accepted his invitation for a date. But she'd still allowed herself to become accustomed to the pleasure of spending time with him. She'd gotten to know the man behind the golden god she'd created in her own fantasies almost thirty years ago.
She'd even begun crafting new fantasies about him. Ones in which the two of them agreed to put their past behind them and start over. Ones in which he grew to love her.
He didn't know about those fantasies. Hell, she barely acknowledged them to herself. But she'd had them.
Because, to reiterate, she was a fucking idiot.
Once she confirmed that they'd reached the most private spot outside Nice Rack, one next to the building but far away from any doors, she swung around to face him. For long seconds, they stared at each other in the shadows, the pressure of their mutual anger building once again.
“I knew you'd lose interest,” she hissed. “I'm just impressed it took you two months this time, instead of an hour in bed.”
He leaned forward, speaking in a dangerously low voice. “So
now
is when you decide you want to talk about that night? When you're on a date with another man?”
“Why not?” she cried. “There's no point in pretending anymore. Drop the act, Wes. You don't want a girl like me. Isn't that what you told me?”
“For Christ's sake, that's notâ”
“And I have to assume you
do
want Lady Bites-A-Lot out there. So why the hell have you been pursuing me for two months now? To raise my hopes and then dash them as some kind of cruel trick? For the challenge?”
“No!” he exploded. “What the fuck, Helen? Have I ever done anything to make you believe I'm that cruel?”
“I don't know,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest and tapping her chin in faux reflection. “Oh, wait, I
do
know. You slept with me and then kicked me out of bed two seconds later. And then you capped it off by telling me you shouldn't have slept with such a big, nerdy nobody!”
He put his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place with a gentle but unbreakable grip.
“You listen to me, Helen Rose Murphy,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You will let me explain myself right now. Before you say another word.”
“Butâ”
He covered her mouth with his for a split second, shocking her into silence. But before she could even do more than feel the moist warmth of his breath and the ghost of his firm lips against hers, it was over.
He lifted his head with a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I thought that might stop you from talking. I know you don't want me to touch you. Until you let me explain what happened, I'm going to kiss you each time you interrupt. Understand?”
She nodded, her mouth pursed as she tried to hide her reaction to the kiss.
Wes was full of shit. He had to know how much she wanted his touch. Too much. So much that a chaste brush of his mouth on hers made her heart start racing, even if he only did it to shut her up.
“When you approached me that night, you found me at one of the lowest points in my recent life. I felt like a failure.” He gave another mirthless chuckle. “Again. And then you came up to me, ready and willing to distract me from my thoughts. Even as I took you home, I knew I shouldn't do it. I didn't want to repeat old patterns in my life. But I did it anyway.”
She couldn't prevent her lips from parting in shock. Wes, a failure? In what universe would that be true? And what sort of old patterns did he mean?
“And then, when we'd finished, when I'd wiped my mind clean, I knew I'd made a mistake.”
She opened her mouth, and he placed a quelling finger over it.
“No, Helen. Not because I didn't want you.”
“I'm obviously not your type,” she said through his finger.
His face blocked out even the faraway lights of the parking lot as he removed his finger and bent low again, this time letting his lips cling to hers in a momentary caress. The gentle sweetness of it made her eyes sting. Once he lifted his head, she turned her face to the side and blinked rapidly.
“You're precisely my type,” he said softly. “I wanted you then, and I want you now. But I didn't want to go back to having hookups with near-strangers to distract me from my thoughts. And, more importantly, I had nothing to offer you. You clearly weren't comfortable with falling into bed with a stranger, despite your determination to go through with the whole thing. So you wouldn't become just a casual booty call. At the same time, I couldn't give you more than that. If you wanted something other than sex, I was worthless. So it was a mistake.”
Her brain kept turning over his phrasing. The implications of it. If he was telling the truth, he hadn't stayed distant that night because of some perceived flaw in her. But what did that mean when it came to the two of them? And why hadn't he thought himself capable of more than a sexual relationship?
He sighed, some of the tension leaving his frame. “When I referred to âa woman like you,' I didn't mean it as an insult. Even after talking to you for five minutes, I could see how warm you are. How smart and funny and . . . vulnerable. And I knew a woman like that deserved more than I had to give, at least right then. Although if I'd known then what I know now, I'd have tried to give it to you anyway. Because you're worth the attempt at becoming a better man.”
He squeezed her shoulders, demanding her attention.
“Look at me,” he ordered. “Do you believe what I just told you?”
She looked up at him in the dark and saw no signs of deception. No shifting eyes. No sense of unease or hesitancy in his body language. And she had to admit it: In the two months since they'd started spending time together, she hadn't seen him lie once. Not to her. Not to her friends. Not to his constituents.
“Yes,” she muttered. “I believe you.”
That was a problem. Because how was she going to keep her distance from an entirely unsuitable man when she couldn't even tell herself he'd acted like an asshole that night?
“Then feel free to start yelling at me again,” he said. “At least we've gotten a few things clear before we continue the argument.”
He released her shoulders, and the loss of his warmth made her shake with a sudden chill.
“Fuck, Helen,” he said. “Why the hell didn't you bring your coat outside?”
Muttering all the while, he stripped off his sweater and tugged it over her head. When she emerged from the thick folds, she saw him standing in only a T-shirt and jeans.
“You'll get cold,” she objected.
He shrugged. “I'm fine.”
When his hands went to the collar of the tee and tugged it back into place, her eyes followed them. Then she saw it: a fucking bite mark. And fury filled her brain with a red haze once again.
“I heard what you had to say, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm right. I knew you'd lose interest in me. I knew you preferred women like the one in there.” She flung a hand toward the building. “So I kept you at a distance.”
She leaned forward, aggressively entering his personal space.
“Tell me this, hotshot. If I'm your
type
, and you want me with such
sincerity
”âshe made sure to put a mocking emphasis on those wordsâ“then why the hell, only hours after you asked me out, did Ms. No-Bra McBiterson have her teeth sunk into your fucking neck?”
Satisfied that she'd won her point, she leaned back. But then, to her surprise, he countered her movement, lowering his head until his nose came to a stop a millimeter from hers.
His brows had snapped together, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “Because you kept me at such a distance, I was on the verge of giving up. You never let me discuss that night last year, even though you put the worst possible interpretation on everything that happened. You wouldn't ask or answer any questions that might help us get to know each other. You wouldn't let me touch you. I thought you didn't want me, you dense, infuriating goddamn woman.”
Her eyes grew wide in disbelief. Her . . . not wanting Wes? After all his experience with women, couldn't he recognize one struggling against her attraction to him?
Maybe, she speculated with reluctant amusement, no previous women had ever bothered trying to fight such potent masculinity. She couldn't blame them, honestly.
He paused, his tone turning contemplative. “And, to a lesser extent, Domi also got her teeth into my neck because I couldn't get her off of me without hurting her. I think the woman has suction cups in her hands. Or maybe little barbs like a spider.” He curled the fingertips of both hands in illustration. “Either way, I couldn't peel her off.”
She refused to laugh.
Refused
.
“But that's not my point,” he said, his voice lowering to gravel again. “I wouldn't have gotten within a mile of that woman if you'd given me any sign that you wanted me. And even without that sign, what you saw was going to be my first and last dance of the night with Domi. I didn't want to take the chance of alienating you. I'd just told her I didn't want to go home with her, which is why she bit me. Again, like a goddamn spider. Or possibly a vampire whose teeth need sharpening.”
“Even so, youâ” she began.
“And might I add, it's a little rich hearing you complain about a woman biting me against my will when you were on a goddamn date with another man
.
”
“But it wasn'tâ” she started to protest.
His voice rough, he talked over her. “For two months, I've tried to prove that I want more than a one-night stand with you. I've tried to show that I care about you, despite all the distance you imposed between us. But you never gave me a chance. Instead, you chose to go out with some guy who looks like your long-lost, goddamn brother.”
She put her hands on her hips, outraged. “Sam can't help having red hair! And it wasn't a date. We were going out as friends.”
He gave an unimpressed-sounding grunt in response.
Just then, footsteps sounded in the distance, coming closer. Two cautious faces peered around the corner. Sam and
that woman
âDomi, if Helen remembered correctlyâboth cleared their throats.
“Darling,” Domi called, “don't you want to come back inside?”
“Just checking to make sure you're okay,” Sam said. “I don't want to interrupt, but I was worried.”
She'd feel worse about abandoning Sam tonight, but he'd already known they wouldn't be rekindling their romantic connection. Soon after his arrival at the library, she'd made that clear and offered him her friendship instead. Whether he'd completely given up on becoming more than friends with her, she didn't know. At the moment, she didn't care.
She kept her voice polite but firm. “I'm sorry I ran off, Sam, and thank you for checking on me. But I'm fine. Please give us some privacy.”
When Sam didn't budge, Wes directed a menacing glare that way.
“I'm getting cold,” Domi protested, edging closer to Wes.
“Then go back inside,” he told her. “I appreciate your concern, but I'm going home after this conversation.”
When she opened her mouth again, he added, “
Alone
.”
Her lower lip poked out. “But Iâ”
“
Give us a minute!
” Wes nearly shouted.
Footsteps retreated again into the lit sections of the parking lot, but she knew Sam and Domi hadn't gone far away.
“So here's what I want to know,” Wes whispered. “Why won't you give me a chance? What can I do to convince you?”
Honestly, she didn't know. Her head felt overstuffed with unexpected revelations and hope and chagrin. Deep inside, though, an insidious voice still hissed a warning.
Do you really think you're enough to hold a man like him? Really, Helen?
After a minute of silence, he tried again. “Is it me? Do you not want me?”
“I want you,” she admitted. No point in denying it. A man with his amount of experience with women could probably tell, no matter what she said.
His next words seemed dragged from his throat. “Am I . . . not smart enough for you?”
She stared at him in disbelief, lowering her voice to a whisper too. “What are you talking about, Wes?”
“Nothing,” he said with a short laugh. “Just joking.”
Only he didn't look like he was joking. Despite the laugh, he wasn't smiling, and the furrow between his brows had grown deeper. And when she saw the unexpected vulnerability on his face, her defenses collapsed. Not all the way, but enough to let him climb inside and explore a bit.