"How many rejections will it take, Marissa, before you get it through your thick head that I don't want to sleep with you?" He slammed shut the fridge to punctuate his statement, then walked around her to get a glass from the cabinet.
"It appears I've hurt you in some way I'm unaware of and for that, I apologize. However, I wish you'd stop acting like an injured bear and just tell me why you're so upset."
Her quiet voice cut through his anger and made him realize how much he was acting like a big jerk. He couldn't share his feelings with her. He couldn't tell her that his resolve was weakening, that her body and her mind and her spirit were blinding his moral vision, that he wanted her more than any woman he'd ever met.
"I don't like that touchy-feely crap." He poured the orange juice, even though he'd lost interest in it. "Here's a little piece of advice. Don't nag men to share their thoughts or feelings or anything else. Guys don't like it. If they want to tell you, they'll tell you."
"I'll make a note of that, Dane."
The sarcasm in her voice surprised him. He was used to her sincerity and openness and honesty. He looked at her and saw those fabulous lips pressed together. Her gaze was flinty, and he realized he'd never seen her angry before.
"I'm not asking for an emotional commitment. I'm not nagging you to pour forth the complexity of your manly thoughts. I'm just asking what...what put the bug up your ass?"
Stunned at her less than hoity-toity language, Dane paused mid-drink. She left the kitchen and he watched her walk into the living room. She stood in front of the window, looking at the moon through the gap in the curtains, apparently too agitated to return to bed.
The anger drained from him. He didn't want her to be upset. He wanted the other Marissa, the one who was innocent and kind and naive. Dane sipped the orange juice. The acidic sweetness added to the bad taste formed in his mouth—the taste of his regret.
He strode into the living room and touched her shoulder. "I'm a class-A bastard."
"I've already come to that conclusion. Any other thoughts you want to share? Or do I need a crowbar to pry them from your mind?"
"I'm sorry I snapped at you."
"Apology accepted."
Dane stared at her back; it was stiff as a board. She wasn't going to make this easy.
"Would you turn around?"
She did. Hurt and anger still glittered in her eyes, but at least her lips were back to normal. One blonde brow rose as if to say, Well, moron, are you gonna stand around all night or what?
"I was jealous." The admission popped out of his mouth before he knew it. She looked as startled as he felt. Heat crept up his neck.
"Of Brent?"
"Yes."
She looked down at the floor. Dane followed her gaze and noticed all ten of her toes were wiggling.
"Dane, I have a confession."
He stopped looking at her twitching toes and met her gaze. He saw the familiar expression of vulnerability and determination, and crossed his arms. "This is a new thing on the list, isn't it?"
"No. You need to know that I don't plan to sleep with Brent. We thought if we pretended to be together, you would get jealous and you—well, you might change your mind about me." Her bottom lip trembled; she nibbled it then sighed. "I suddenly realized the only person I really want to make love to is you. And, well, you don't want me. It's a conundrum. I haven't quite figured out the answer. Other than keeping my virginity, of course."
She'd done it again. Gotten to him. Twisted his insides until he wasn't sure what he was feeling. She wasn't anything like Lorraine—damned sure not a poor, little, rich princess like his ex-wife. She was honest and kind-hearted and, if he wanted, she was his. He knew she'd open her body to him the same way she'd opened her heart and mind to those around her. It was a frightening responsibility.
Dane wanted her. He didn't want to think about the implications anymore. She was an adult and so was he. What was so wrong about making love to a beautiful woman? It wouldn't be the first time two lonely people had found solace in sharing their bodies.
Dane leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "We'll talk about this tomorrow."
He fisted his hands to keep from touching her, then turned and walked away.
***|***|***|***|***
MARISSA VANDERSON
MARISSA STARED AT the darkened hallway, unable to believe Dane had just disappeared through it without reacting to her confession. We'll talk about it tomorrow.
She'd just ruined everything. He would probably quit or try to send her home or any number of things that did not include getting naked and sweaty with her. The ache crawling through her chest threatened to turn into a prolonged sobbing fit, so she distracted herself by turning off the kitchen light and counting the steps to the couch. She leaned down to fluff her pillow.
"Marissa?"
Dane's quiet voice startled her. She turned and found him standing behind her. A thin stream of moonlight highlighted the seriousness of his features. For some odd reason, her heart began to pound furiously.
"Yes, Dane?"
"I forgot something."
"What?"
"This."
He kissed her, just a whisper of his lips against hers. His hands cupped her face and he deepened his possession of her mouth. She thought she'd faint from the sensations he created by the simple movement of his mouth against hers. She felt like he was paying homage to her lips.
Then he pulled back. Moonlight slashed across his face and his eyes glittered with what she could only describe as lust. The air felt thick around her—she felt like she might stop breathing any minute.
"Good night, Marissa."
She couldn't get any words out. A grin tugged the corners of his mouth, as if he was amused by the reason for her silence, then he disappeared—again—into the dark hallway.