Because it’d been bothering him for days, the thought of some dude touching her, kissing her, fucking her. He hoped he could stop her before it got to that, and when she’d disclosed earlier that she was on birth control, he’d wanted to ask; was afraid of the answer. He hated that the thought bothered him so much. He hadn’t wanted to appear bothered. He didn’t want tobebothered.
But his words had come out sounding like what it was: a jealous directive.
She was now slapping cheese on top of crackers, lining them up on the plate as she glared downward, brows knitted together. She looked bewildered, near tears. He could see her mind chase from explanation to explanation and discarding all of them as ridiculous.
She smacked the plate away from herself, upsetting her handiwork, and stood, spinning toward the aft—new word he’d learned—as she did so. “I’m going back.”
Mac leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, spinning her back around toward him. “Sit. We have all day.” Tugging on her wrist, he urged her back down. “Sit down.”
“I don’t understand.” Her gaze darted toward the back. She wanted to escape.
Like a book, he could read her: she thought it would be easy to climb over and start the engine, head back. Between the two of them, he knew she was the one who knew how to get back. He certainly didn’t. Even if he had the best GPS in the world, he’d be screwed without her.
“Came out wrong.” It didn’t, but he had to backtrack.
She hesitated; he could tell she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t believe him, but she wanted to. So, she slowly turned and sat back down, pulling her wrist from his grasp, those expressive eyes of hers shooting him a hopeful look; bracing for disappointment.
He knew what she wanted him to say; it was why she’d sat down. The hope in her eyes she was fighting to keep from showing through intermingled with wariness. She’d admitted to feeling something for him,Then how can you make it feel so real?
Now she wanted some of that back. Validation, at the very least. Acknowledgment. All the shit women say they don’t need. They’re always fooling themselves. Day was a perfect example. It was all there, in her eyes, begging him for something. Bitch of it was, he wanted to give it to her.
He’d forgotten how a woman could do that: gut him with one look; a look, a touch, a word, a sigh.
She could. She did.
“How does that come out wrong?” she asked, tilting her chin up a notch, forcing a hardened look into her eyes.
He bit back a groan. Did she know how close she was to being grabbed and slammed down on the fiberglass bench? Pretending to challenge him? Everything she did made him hard, made him want to lose himself in her. Defiant or blushing, his cock was a fucking hair-trigger with her.
His eyes narrowed; no, she didn’t know. She couldn’t possibly know her effect; wouldn’t occur to her. Would she let him? Yes. Would it resolve anything? No.
Bringing his bottle to his lips, he took a drink from it, noticing a glare of impatience in her expression. He wasn’t getting out of this conversation because as he’d pointed out himself, there was nowhere to go. So he ventured forth with, “That the man you want to waste your time on?”
She stared at him, waiting for more before she committed to an answer.
Casting his gaze out over the water, he gave it to her. “He’s not the type of man I’d imagine you’d bring in as a follow-up to your husband; a pretty boy, playboy, adaddy’sboy.”
“Isn’t that a little bit of the pot calling the kettle black?”
“No one will ever call mepretty;not if they want to live. I’ve worked for what I have, and I’m not a playboy. Key word in those descriptors?Boy. You need a man.”
The quiet intensity surrounding her informed him that her gaze was boring in to him. He could predict her next question, “Are you volunteering?”
Quietly asked, presented as sarcastic, but he heard the underlying yearning.
His lips twitched. “It’s not a hardship being between your legs, but that man of yours seems like a hard act to follow.” There was more truth in his words than she knew. Her husband did more than love her, take care of her. He’d set a precedent that would be impossible for another to follow: he’d owned her heart, been herforever. No one sane would want to challenge the bar he’d set, would want to be the consolation prize.
Mac would have taken on that challenge without hesitation at one point in his life, for her. But now… Not now. Ironically,for her.
Cassidy hugged herself, leaning over her knees, her eyes skirting the scenery in front of them. “You’re presumptuous about Roman.”
“Don’t think I am. I don’t know his game, but he’s made it clear you have his interest.”
“Oh, because it has to be a game, right, his interest in me?”
He’d wounded her.Fuck, this wasn’t going to end well. He wasn’t good at this stuff. Talking. Explaining himself. That’s why he stuck with his talents. Just fucking.
“You think he’s in this for the long haul with you?” he demanded. “You think he’s going to realize you’re what’s missing in his life? That there’s a shiny diamond ring out there for you and a prenup? Or will he use you and move on? Maybe you’re the lakeside girl in the lakeside house his wife doesn’t know about.” Because she deserved better than being a playboy’s toy. She also deserved better than Mac, but at least he was honest with her.