Chapter 9 #3
She swipes her hair over one shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck. “It wasn’t that many.”
My teeth marks are visible on her skin, and it gives me a type of primal satisfaction I thought I was immune to. “So, no?”
“It was an itch to be scratched. Don’t get too pleased with yourself.”
It’s exactly what I want to believe. That this madness is a tension release that needed to be taken care of so we can move on.
It’s closure. That’s all.
My gut doesn’t buy it.
Nothing with this woman is that easy.
But if she wants to play it cool, I can do that. “I assume you haven’t moved from your position of not explaining your actions to anyone.”
She shifts on her heels. “Since I don’t have a plausible explanation, I think that’s for the best.”
“Okay. I’ll play along.”
“Great.” Her jaw sets as she crosses her arms. “So the plan for Saturday still stands.”
“Works for me.” I keep my tone mild.
She narrows her eyes. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing. I’m agreeing with you.”
“Exactly. I don’t trust you.” Her lips are pressed together as she scrutinizes me.
“I don’t see why. Haven’t I proven I’ll respect your wishes?”
“Yes.” Her suspicion doesn’t clear. “But you never agree with me.”
“Never is a big word for two people who have only met twice and spent most of that time in bed.”
“Fine. Whatever.” She huffs, looking disgruntled and adorable.
I chuckle. “What would make you happy here?”
The toe of her shoe starts tapping, and she shrugs one shoulder but remains silent.
I lean against my vehicle. “You’re making a lot of life changes, which can be stressful. Seems prudent to give you one less thing to worry about.”
“Ha. Nothing about you worries me.” Her hip cocks even farther as she postures.
I repress the urge to challenge her. “Good. But the statement still stands. You’re moving, starting a new job, and meeting a lot of new people. Focusing on yourself is good common sense.”
“Great. Because that’s exactly what I want. To focus on me.” Her chin lifts as she straightens. I can practically see the lawyer roll over her like a shield.
“It works out, then.” I keep my voice neutral.
She gives a little wave at my car. “It was tension relief, that’s all.”
The desire to wrap her in my arms and force her to melt against me, if nothing more than to help her relax, is so strong it surprises me.
It also keeps me rooted in my spot.
Wanting her for sex is one thing—that’s understandable. Wanting to give her comfort, to cultivate emotional intimacy, is not.
Carefully, I ask, “And are you relieved?”
“Yep. I’m all good.”
“Happy to hear it.”
“So, I have no more use for you.”
I want to fight her, but to what purpose?
So we have amazing sex and unbelievable chemistry? It doesn’t change the fact that it’s better to keep our distance. Maybe we needed one more time to get it out of our systems. We are a volatile combination, full of attachments and complications neither one of us wants.
I agree with her. “Problem solved, right?”
“Right.” Her expression twists like she’s contemplating murdering me. “Now we can go on our merry, separate ways.”
My irritation prickles, but I ignore it. This is for the best. Spending time with Jessica will lead to nothing but trouble.
The list of reasons to stay away is endless.
I’m not a relationship person and never will be.
She’s made it clear that relationships are the last thing on her mind.
I don’t like complicated and messy.
She wants to focus on establishing the new life she’d been planning before I came along and threw a wrench into it.
And that doesn’t even include that I’m her brother’s boss.
Or that we are about to become coworkers.
This is the only sane, reasonable course of action.
My desire to engage with her, to force her to admit I have power over her, is my ego. Nothing more, nothing less. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Then there’s nothing left to say, is there?”
“Why? Do you have something else to say?”
“Nope. Nothing at all.” Her tone is flippant, but her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why, do you have something to say?”
Only that there are a thousand reasons to stay away, but I don’t want to. “Nope.”
She gives me a sharp nod. “Good. From here on out, I think it’s best if we keep our interactions limited and strictly professional.”
“Agreed.” Well, my head does; the rest of me is very much not on board.
“It’s settled, then.” Her blue eyes flash like an electrical storm.
“Have a good night, Sheriff.” An impassive expression on her face, she straightens, taking three steps in my direction.
Then she has the gall to hold out her hand.
I contemplate her outstretched palm. My instinct is to take her, yank her to me, claim her mouth, and show her every single word she’s just said to me is complete and utter bullshit.
But I don’t.
I take advantage of my post-nut clarity and slide my hand into hers before giving it a brisk shake. “You too, counselor.”
She pulls away, gives me a little waggle of her fingers, and swivels back toward her car. “See ya Saturday.”
“See ya Saturday,” I parrot back to her.
A minute later, she’s gone.