Chapter Ten #2
He ignored her sarcasm. “I came to apologize.”
“For what?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to explain in private.”
Emily looked back and forth between them, unable to decipher the mood. “Mommy says it’s not nice to call someone a sour-face.”
Paul arched a brow. “She would know.”
“Sit with Uncle Jack,” Vanessa said to Emily. “Roast marshmallows.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
They strolled along the path together, until their voices couldn’t be overheard.
Then Vanessa turned to him with her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth pursed with displeasure.
She smelled like honey and sunshine, along with a hint of citrus.
His pulse leapt with excitement at the thought of kissing her again, which was stupid.
He was in for a tongue-lashing, but not the kind he liked.
“Well?” she prompted impatiently.
“I shouldn’t have told you to keep an eye on your daughter, or implied that you weren’t taking care of her. You came to me because I needed help, and then I … distracted you.”
She tapped her fingertips on her upper arms. “Is that it?”
Paul hesitated, unsure of his next step. He’d said his piece, and considered it sufficient. “What more do you want?”
“An actual explanation?” she replied, as if it were obvious. “A reason for your behavior? Like, are you always an insufferable jerk, or is it a new development?”
Paul’s neck heated with irritation. His reason was her. She was an aggravating woman who’d barged in on his vacation hideout and demanded to share his space. She’d taken over the lakeside retreat, inserted herself in his personal business, and witnessed him in a series of vulnerable moments.
Vanessa held up a slender hand to count off a list of his mistakes. “You’ve accused me of suggestive hot dog eating, daddy issues, vagrancy, and poor parenting.”
Paul swallowed a defensive retort. No matter how much she irritated him—or aroused him—he had no excuse for the way he’d acted. He attempted to be diplomatic. “I know you weren’t trying to be suggestive.”
Her brows rose at this small concession. She wasn’t impressed.
“I’m still recovering from my injury,” he said. “Not just physically, but psychologically.”
She waited for him to continue.
He fumbled for a better explanation. “You told me about your father and the guy he shot. It turned out okay. Everyone survived.”
“Right.”
“My situation was different.”
“Were you shot on the job?”
“I was shot on the job,” he said. “And I wasn’t the only one hit. Another guy took a bullet … to the head.”
Her eyes searched his. “He died?”
“Yes, he did. Right in front of me.”
“Did you know him?”
“No.”
“But it haunts you.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
Paul wasn’t sure how to describe his emotional state. “I haven’t been thinking about it. Not consciously. I guess it’s still there, lurking below the surface. I feel unsettled at times, as if I’m in danger. My reactions to stress are amplified.”
Her features softened with sympathy. She went quiet, studying him.
He hadn’t told her that he was responsible for the man’s death, or that he’d been trying to save a woman and child.
He felt no remorse about doing his job, or taking a life.
He didn’t even feel attached to the memory.
It was as if someone else had acted in his place.
Someone else had killed a man in self-defense.
The staff psychologist had called him distant during their last session.
Or maybe she’d used the term disassociated.
She’d claimed that talking about his experience was an important part of the recovery process.
Every time she’d inquired about the shooting, Paul gave a rote description.
He couldn’t manufacture feelings that weren’t there.
“That’s awful,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded an acknowledgment. “I didn’t realize how much it had affected me until you and Emily came along.”
“You should talk to someone.”
“I have.”
“Did it help?”
He shrugged, because he doubted it.
“Why aren’t you getting PT?”
“I’m on a waiting list.”
She didn’t offer her forgiveness, or wrap him up in a warm embrace. She sighed heavily, her hands on her hips. “I understand that you’re on edge, and you’re sensitive about your injury, but I can’t accept your apology.”
His head tilted to one side. “You can’t?”
“No,” she said. “I can’t, and I’m not sure you deserve it. You were the one being reckless about personal safety, not me. You made the first move, not me. Then you shamed me for getting distracted by your kiss.”
“I didn’t shame you.”
“You did.”
“I liked the way you responded.”
“You flew off the handle when Emily interrupted us.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“What if you’d blown up at her instead of me?”
He frowned at the question, because he hadn’t blown up at anyone. He wasn’t the kind of man who shouted down women and children. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, I don’t trust you.”
Paul stared at her with narrowed eyes. She hadn’t accepted his apology.
This was uncharted territory for him. Apologies were rare in his interactions with women.
He liked women, and they liked him. He tended to keep things light and easy.
Vanessa’s rejection rankled for reasons he couldn’t explain.
It wasn’t as if he’d expected to start a relationship with her.
“You’re using Emily as an excuse,” he said quietly.
“You don’t trust me because you got burned in the divorce. It has nothing to do with me.”
“I don’t trust you because of your behavior! It has everything to do with you.”
He stepped forward and lowered his voice another notch. “I was out of line today, but I wasn’t out of control. I didn’t yell at you or Emily. I think what really rattled you is that kiss. You’re not afraid of me; you’re afraid of us.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re afraid I’ll kiss you again, and you’ll like it again. You’re afraid of what you’ll let me do to you in the dark.”
She let out a huff of indignation and shook her head.
Then she rested her palm on his chest in a deceptively calm manner.
“We won’t be in the dark together, Paul, and I’m not afraid of anything you’d do to me.
You’re just a man like any other. You all have the same parts, and you all think they work better than a vibrator. ”
Heat pooled to his groin, despite her suggestion that his dick was nothing special. “Would you respond the same way to any man?”
“Maybe I would.”
He felt a powerful urge to prove her wrong, which was ridiculous.
It was impossible to dispute her claim without a direct comparison and he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her.
He wouldn’t mind a demonstration of how well her vibrator worked, however.
He wasn’t intimidated by that challenge in the least.
He was also tempted to steal another kiss and risk getting his face slapped. He liked the idea of her hands on him, even in anger. He wanted to say more, do more, feel more. A light tussle with her would suit his mood perfectly.
Instead of surrendering to this dark impulse, he took a step back to give her space.
Goading her into slapping him wasn’t a good idea.
Not right now, with her brother and kid nearby.
In the distance, Jackson appeared to be roasting marshmallows with Emily while keeping one eye on them.
Paul returned his gaze to Vanessa. Her hand had fallen to her side as he retreated.
He could still feel it like a brand on his skin.
She watched his chest rise and fall in agitation. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You said you didn’t want to see me.”
He hadn’t said that, not exactly. He’d said he didn’t think it was a good idea for them to see each other—and it wasn’t. He’d had no right to kiss her this afternoon. He shoved his hands into his pockets to avoid the temptation of reaching out to her again.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said, clearing her throat.
“Your brother told me.”
“I guess this is goodbye, then.”
“Yeah. It’s been swell.”
She flashed a brittle smile. “Don’t suck too many lemons.”
He didn’t bother with a parting shot, though a number of inappropriate comments sprang to mind. He watched her walk away, hips swaying, and felt something deeper than disappointment over an unconsummated affair.
It felt like loss.