Because it wasn’t just sex. Any idiot, even a stubborn idiot—read: me—would recognize that it was… more.
More equaled bad.
I kept my face impassive and didn’t say a thing, nor did I respond to the look in his eye. I sipped my coffee with that same look, as if I was comfortable in the silence and could stay there forever.
That was a trick of mine. I perfected not only the ice queen persona, but the silence between words in a conversation. Silence was like the prize we all strived for yet rebelled against. Sometimes we wanted silence to make people stop talking, which meant we’d won it. Sometimes we had those awkward, first date silences filled with nerves, but that silence could be lost. But whatever kind, it was best to use it to your advantage, to probe people, mostly men, with the fact that you weren’t afraid of a little silence.
More often than not, they were, hurrying to fill it before it yawned big enough for them to fall right into.
Keltan didn’t seem worried about falling, or speaking, since he kept his eyes on me and was staying silent too.
It was like emotional chicken, and it pissed me right off. And turned me right on.
I wanted to stomp my bare foot, or moan, or make a little sound of frustration. Yet I didn’t. Wouldn’t. The blank stare stayed in place.
Until the dimples arrived. Until he shook his head, placed his coffee cup down on the counter with a grin and was in my space, owning it, within seconds.
Granted, the kitchen wasn’t that big, but man, did he move in a blur.
“Okay, baby, you win,” he murmured, mouth against mine.
I struggled against melting into his touch. My traitorous body rebelled and melted only slightly. My eyes stayed ice.
His were melted chocolate, easy and warm in a way that almost made me forget my decision.
Made me throw away the reasons of why this would be the storm that I’d studiously avoided all my life.
The reasons why not.
Almost.
I stayed silent.
The ice remained.
He shook his head, chuckling slightly as his hands bit into my hips. “You think that’s gonna scare me away, babe?” he asked, voice light. “See, the look you’ve perfected to scare guys away all your life was actually not made for that.” His hand left my hip, going up to brush a hair from my face before trailing down the space on the side of my eye. “I know what it was made for. To scare those fuckers off first. To make sure there was only one man it would rein in. It was made for me, babe.”
His words hit me. Physically. In my chest. Every single one. The surety in them, the easy way he said it. So open, without reservation or any sort of hesitation that such statements weren’t appropriate after such a short time in each other’s company.
That was a jarring combination.
A deadly one.
I swallowed, trying to move from his space, needing distance, physically at least in order to keep the storm away.
The one hand at my hip tightened, not letting me go.
“Nope,” he chided, eyes still twinkling. “You’re not runnin’, babe.”
I glared at him. He didn’t blink. That unnerved me. It was my ultimate glare. It even made Bull pause.
But I gathered myself. I had no choice, after all.
“I’m not running,” I said. “I’m just trying to get some space.”
I struggled in vain once more.
“You don’t need space,” Keltan argued.
I continued to glare but stopped struggling because it was embarrassing, me being helpless. I wasn’t helpless. Or had considered that to be the fact until that night two months ago.
“And what makes you have the delusional thought that you actually know what I want?” I snapped.
His eyes lost a lot of their twinkle and turned deeper. “Because I know you,” he replied seriously.
“You don’t know me,” I argued. “You’ve fucked me. That is not knowing me.”
His jaw hardened and the fingers at my hip increased their pressure. “Don’t do that. Cheapen what last night was. What this morning was. What we are,” he ordered, voice hard.
I didn’t blink. “No. I’m just introducing a little thing called reality. You’re making statements that make me think you’ve lost touch with it.”
He tilted his head. “What? Because I’m sure the woman I’m holding in my hands means more to me than a fuck, as you so gracefully put it?” he asked. He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Babe, when you’ve seen how fuckin’ short this life can be, when your life can depend on simplicity, on instincts that we were born with, you learn to trust those instincts.” His eyes searched mine. “It’s not insanity. It’s going beyond the bullshit and accepting something that’s the reason I’m standing right here today. My gut. And it’s telling me what I’m holding in my hands is what I’ve fought my way through this life for. You think that’s not reality? Well then, fuck reality.”