“Because you’re….”
“What?”
She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “You’re you. You’re strong, you’re—”
“You’restrong. I know damn well you are.”
Her shoulders sagged, and she looked down at her feet again. “I don’t feel it.”
“Looks to me like you’re not feeling anything.” He still couldn’t understand that. “And you damn well should be. You should be furious, bursting with anger.”
She was quiet.
“And actually, I think you are. You just don’t know how to express it. How to let it out.”
She looked up at him, confused.
“In there”—he tapped her sternum—“is a whole heap of rage and frustration, and you have to let it out.”
She sucked in a breath and pursed her lips.
He kept on tapping her. “Because if you don’t let it out, it will eat you up, gnaw away at you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She frowned and tried to shift away from him.
“Yes, you do.” He stepped closer.
She backed against the wall until her shoulders hit it. “What are you doing?”
“Come on, Leah, show me how mad they make you.”
“No.”
“Yes. Throw something. Yell. Kick the damn table.”
“No!” she said more forcefully.
He reached behind himself and dragged off his t-shirt.
Her gaze dipped to his pecs.
“Hit me, here.” He banged his chest.
“Stop it, Carter.” There was a shake in her voice.
Good, he was getting to her.
“Come on, I’m a tough guy, take it out on me, then it will be done. It has to come out, Leah. It has to.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“So you’re not denying it’s there?”
She gave a frustrated grunt and slid along the wall to the right.
Quickly, he blocked her way, hemming her in by slamming his palms to the wall and locking his elbows. He crowded over her.
“Let me be.” She placed her hands on his chest and shoved.