Fuck that.
“We have more to talk about.”
“We don’t. We,” she gestured between the two of them, “we don’t talk, Mac. We don’t share. That’s not what we do. We have boundaries. You’re the one who set us up that way.”
“I don’t want those anymore.”
Her brow furrowed. “Too late because I do.” She tossed him a look like he’d told her he worshiped chickens before she started down the dock. Grinding to a halt, she asked, “Where’s my dog?”
Resisting every instinct urging him to leap onto the dock after her and grab her to him, reminding her of the spark they had together, he answered, “My cabin.”
She swung her gaze in that direction. She stared at the cabin.
He could see her fighting herself. She wanted her dog, but she didn’t want to go to the cabin, not with him. But he was not going to offer to bring Fred to her. He wanted her in his territory, in his cabin. Eventually, her shoulders dropped.
“Anytime.” He tried not to sound triumphant, but he was looking forward to it, another opportunity, her coming to him. “This isn’t over.”
She cast a glare back at him, knowing full well what she had hoped would be a clean break now wouldn’t be. She also looked like she wanted to say something else, but she changed her mind, dropped her gaze, and walked away.
Mac watched her go. Every step she took away from him was a punishment.
Grady was right: he fucking wanted that woman. But she didn’t want to have a damn thing to do with him. Could he blame her? He’d taken almost everything from her. It might be better for her if he conceded defeat and left her alone; gave her the peace Jason had asked him months ago to give her.
“Fuck that,” he grumbled out loud as she disappeared from sight.
It wasn’t because she didn’t deserve peace. It was because he was a selfish prick who couldn’t survive in the darkness anymore. He needed the light of day; at least the possibility of it, and he would do anything to hold on to it. He neededher.
Chapter sixty-one
Cassidy
TWO DISASTERS
Cassidywasshakingasshe walked away. She kept her cool, though, a tight rein on her emotions, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as she took measured steps up the slight incline. Being near him affected her—of course, it did, he was stillMac, sheet-gripping, screaming, fuck-you-stupid Mac—but she had tried so hard not to let it show. Even as her brain couldn’t forget what he had done, her body remembered everything he did to it and welcomed him. And her heart…
Well. She hoped he couldn’t tell how much he affected her.
Of course, he could tell.
She wasn’t sure how he was interpreting it.
As she walked, she could feel the heat and weight of his attention. He wasn’t going to release her until she was out of sight. And that was why she couldn’t falter, couldn’t look back over her shoulder, couldn’t rush even though he was burning her.
At her door—the hardest—she opened it and walked through. Inside, though, she ducked her head and peered through the plate glass. His dark eyes were still on the house, darkened skin glistening in the morning sun, head tilted, arms akimbo, striking a pose that screamed sex and control and… Damn it, why was she thinking this way?
Because that’s who he was; he couldn’t help it. Mac was sex.
But that’s all he was, she reminded herself.
Just as she thought he was going to say to hell with it and follow her, he turned away.
She expelled the breath she’d been holding.
That had been the hardest thing she’d done, recounting to him what had happened, aware of him, his powerful presence overwhelming her. And he’dstood there. Even when she’d broken down over Fred, when she was craving comfort, would have welcomed his arms around her, he freakingstood there, watching her cry.
And then her idiot self, saying his name, calling for him. She could have said she misspoke, but he wouldn’t have believed her. She wouldn’t have believed herself. Best to ignore it.
She’d wanted more from him, she realized, than words. And it was wrong, and it was twisted, considering he had held her down and said horrible things to her. Even as she went over that night, she made rationalizations for his behavior. He’d been irritated, and he was right. She shouldn’t be making excuses for him. It shouldn’t have mattered she was screaming at him, too, and hitting him, and saying horrible things. The only difference was she’d been sober.