Did she really hijack me to talk about the car? I opened my mouth to say as much, but nothing came out.
“What are you doing, Bryce?” she asked.
“I’m going to sell the car,” I said.
“You think I’m talking about the car?” She shook her head, perplexed. “I mean what are you doing?”
“Leaving. So if you’ll excuse me…”
“Cut the crap. You know what I’m talking about.” Her lips were beautifully red and swollen from our kiss only moments ago. Her dark eyes were serious.
Shit.
She wanted to talk.
Beware when a woman decided she wanted to talk. It never led to anything good.
“It was just a kiss, Marjorie.”
“You really want to go down that road?” She shook her head. “I should have known.”
“Does everything have to have some great meaning? Does everything require a conversation?” I huffed. “Women.”
“Women? Really? You’re going to play that card? You’re better than that, Bryce.”
She was right. I did know better than that. My mother had been a traditional housewife, but she’d also taught me how to treat and respect women.
And my father had backed her up.
Man. He’d had two distinct personalities. Had he suffered from a dissociative identity? Probably not. He’d just been a major psychopath. Psychopaths were notoriously good at hiding who they were. My father had been a master at it.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Marj. “Truly.”
And I truly was.
She trailed her finger over my forearm. Just that little contact had me tightening and tensing, in a majorly good way.
Except it wasn’t a good way. Not for us. Not now.
“Listen to me,” she said, her tone serious. “Don’t start something with me that you can’t finish.”
Her red lips trembled slightly. The urge to touch her, kiss her, take her right here in my father’s car overwhelmed me. My cock was throbbing, aching to be set free from confinement.
I’d already told her I had nothing to offer. Nothing to—
Finish what you start, son.
Damn! My fucked-up father had given me good advice over the years. Good fatherly advice. What a time for that particular advice to pop into my head.
I’d take what I wanted, what I yearned for.
And I’d finish it.
Once and for all.
Chapter Twenty–Nine
Marjorie