Okay, so he really wasn’t an idiot. Not much of one, anyway. He’d just . . . disappointed her. A lot. Plus, he’d hurt her feelings. In her book, that entitled her to at least a little bitchiness. Under the circumstances, she decided she could damn well have herself a proper snit if she wanted to.
She left the bathroom and decided he was also right—they should go eat. At the very least, she thought she deserved some chocolate to soothe her wounded pride. Or alcohol. Alohol worked for her, too. Maybe she’d have both in the form of a chocolate martini. Or three.
She walked over to the balcony door and quietly slid it open. Chas sat in one of the two deck-type chairs, looking out over the Pacific, his BlackBerry grasped loosely in his big hand. A hand that had brought her such exquisite pleasure.
She let out a quiet sigh. The sun had set low on the horizon, moments from disappearing from sight, and cast an orange-ish glow on the water. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Not even she could stay mad when there was a gorgeous sunset to enjoy.
“It is,” he said, not looking at her. “You don’t get this on the East Coast.”
He’d buttoned up his shirt. Good. If she caught another look at that gorgeous male chest, she just might do something stupid—like drool.
“You must have some pretty awesome sunrises, then,” she said, feeling more than a little awkward. She just didn’t get this guy. One minute he was driving her absolutely insane and giving her world-class orgasms, and the next he was almost cold, and definitely distant. Maybe she should throw something at his stupid head, after all.
Finally he looked at her. Desire flared in his gaze. “They’re not bad.”
She stared at him, wishing he’d stand up and kiss her stupid all over again. Two orgasms weren’t nearly enough. She’d take him now, right there on the balcony if she wasn’t afraid he’d reject her again. She wasn’t super chick. She didn’t own a cape with special powers to shield her heart. She was merely mortal, and her pride could only take so much abuse in one day.
“I’m ready if you are,” she said, wondering if she really was talking about food.
The regret she’d spied earlier when he’d first backed away from her had returned to his beautiful green eyes. Damn if her already wounded pride didn’t take another direct hit. When had she become such a glutton for punishment ?
The minute he’d reached for her in the airport that morning, that’s when. He made her feel vulnerable, and that she hated. If she was anything it was self-sufficient. She didn’t need a man to make her feel safe.
“To go eat.” Because she sure as hell wasn’t about to put herself out there again. “Dinner,” she added in a firm tone, just in case she wasn’t clear.
He nodded, then rose. “Give me a minute,” he said, and disappeared into their room.
Frowning, she crossed her arms and rested her backside against the balcony’s wall. Give him a minute? For what? To find another way to insult her, to make her feel as if she was some lesser being?
Her frown deepened. Given the circumstances, she suspected she was feeling more than a little irrational, but dammit, he’d made her feel like crap about herself. Worse, she’d essentially given him permission to make her feel bad, and that really pissed her off, regardless of how illog
ical it might be.
And with that thought, she pushed off the wall and stormed back into their room. “What gives, Chas?” she blurted.
He stopped in the middle of tucking his shirt back into his pants and looked at her, his expression wary. “What are you talking about?”
She folded her arms again. “Oh, I think we both know what I’m talking about.” If he didn’t, then she’d have to adjust her previous position on his idiot status.
Regret filled his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“Sorry?” She let o a huff of impatient breath. “You’re sorry? Do you even know what you’re sorry for?”
“For . . . you know,” he admitted before he finished tucking in his shirt.
“Because you left me . . . I dunno . . . hanging?” She refused to make this easy for him.
A deep frown suddenly marred his forehead as he zipped up his pants. “I did no such thing.”
She almost cared that he sounded defensive, and maybe a little irritated with her. Almost. He’d stopped—what was sure to be the best sex of her life—for reasons only he knew. Screw him. Her bitchiness trumped his irritation.
“Let’s just say you didn’t finish the job,” she told him. “I’d like to know why.”
His jaw tightened and his eyes turned glacial. “It’s not important.”
She made a sound that could’ve been a bark of laughter. But she was too ticked off at him right now to find humor in the situation. “Says you. My pride has a different take on the subject. Wanna hear it?”
He buckled his belt. “Not especially,” he mumbled, but she was close enough that she’d heard him loud and clear. “I thought we were going to dinner.”