But his thigh was so delicious against her burning core as he chafed it, feeding the flames as he shifted even further, covering her with a full-body press. He was big and firm, and the feel of him should be thrilling through her. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was too much.
She gasped for air as her throat closed and she couldn’t speak to save her life. Her nerves frayed, sending her into a panic attack. She pushed at him weakly, knowing she had absolutely no chance of moving him unless he chose to remove himself.
Warren froze and pulled back, his gaze roving over her face. He swore and sat up, running a hand through his hair.
“I got carried away again,” he mumbled, his eyes shut. “I have no excuse for not checking in with you sooner. Please forgive me.”
God, this was a never-ending nightmare of a merry-go-round that she desperately wanted to exit.
“No, Warren.” She crawled to him and pulled his jaw into her hands to force him to look at her. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one botching this.”
She couldn’t stand that he thought this was in any way his fault. Couldn’t stand that she had no idea how to fix the way her insides got too tight when she felt threatened. Why did she feel threatened? Who knew? It was a mystery to her; otherwise, she’d figure out how to shut it off for good.
“Do we need a…code word or something?” he asked cautiously. “Or have I already ruined things so much that you’re through with all of this?”
“Nothing is ruined. You’re so incredibly patient with me and I feel like a sook. But facts are facts, and I’ve got some issues. You shouldn’t pin any hopes on this marriage becoming anything more than a way to keep me in America.”
The lovely vibe between them dissolved and vanished like so much smoke from a chimney. Great. Leave it to her to be the one ruining things with her angst and back-and-forth, as if she couldn’t make up her mind whether to be hot or cold. It wasn’t fair to him.
Slowly, he reached out, his gaze on his fingers as he rebuttoned her shirt to the very top.
“Who said I had any hopes for our marriage? What’s happening between us has nothing to do with that and everything to do with giving you a safe environment to express your sexuality. You’re so much the opposite of who you pretend to be. If you get to a place where you feel free to be yourself while you’re with me, then that’s all I could hope for.”
Oh. She blinked, but the seriousness in his expression didn’t fade. He wasn’t suffering from the effects of an unrequited love, which was a relief. Or, at least, it would be a relief as soon as she convinced herself of it, which was practically the same thing.
She obviously couldn’t handle a relationship right now and he’d realized that. Because he was paying better attention to her emotional landmines than she was.
But that didn’t stop the twist of disappointment that he wasn’t falling at her feet, spouting poetry about his poor broken heart that could only be healed by her love. Silly. She didn’t want that. It was just that she’d thought the surprise picnic meant something that it didn’t. So it wasn’t quite the romantic gesture that she’d believed, but it was, in fact, something better. A safe place. Not a magic fixer-upper love potion that wouldn’t have worked anyway.
She was still the one with the biggest stake in working through her problems, and he’d given her permission to skip the guilt if she failed because Warren wasn’t emotionally invested.
“I’m having a very nice time at lunch,” she told Warren solemnly, which made him smile, so she considered the outing a victory all the way around.
Despite the slight hollow feeling in her stomach where the warmth of Warren had been a few moments ago.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The way things had gone down at the picnic bothered Warren for two solid days. The date had ended on exactly the right note, with zero pressure on either of them. Tilda had learned that she could be and act however she wanted around him. Wear sexy lingerie. Let her hair down. What else could he have expected out of the afternoon?
He had some work to do in the pay-attention-to-her-subtle-cues department, but mostly he’d passed the test of proving he could back off when she needed him to. He had a feeling he’d be proving that one over and over again, but that was okay. It had to be. Tilda needed slow. It wasn’t the end of the world.
So, why was he still on edge?
Maybe because he wasn’t sure what the next step was. He was flying a little blind here, especially given that his usual go-to mode was distance. Out of his element didn’t begin to describe it. Where he normally buried himself in work to cope with feeling ineffective on the people side of things, the source of his frustration was front and center in his professional life—by design.