“No.” The word was harsh and completely without emotion.
“Why not?” She heard the whimper in her voice and despised herself for that weakness.
“Because I don’t know what this is. I don’t know where it’s coming from, and I sure as hell don’t know where it’s going.”
“I was hoping . . . to bed?” She tried to get close again, and his throat worked as he swallowed.
“Damn it. No.”
“Oh.” How humiliating. She’d thought . . . she’d figured he wanted her, too. He’d been trying to hook up with her for years. “I’m sorry. I should . . . I should probably leave.”
He swore, and his hands tightened on her arms. His fingers were going to leave bruises. But unlike the others, she knew that Spencer would regret leaving marks on her skin.
“You’re hurting me,” she said quietly, testing that theory, and he immediately loosened his hold, his hands instinctively stroking over the bruised area.
“You’re not leaving,” he said. “You’re going to dry off, have a hot drink, and we’re going to fucking talk about this.”
“Okay,” she said meekly, and his eyes narrowed.
“I mean it, Daff.”
“I know.”
Spencer was confused, horny, and mad as hell. What in the ever-loving fuck was this about? If he hadn’t tasted her clean—hot—mouth himself, he’d have sworn she was drunk. That left drugs, but her pupils and responses seemed pretty normal, she didn’t seem doped up. She was just . . . odd. And it scared the hell out of him. She seemed much too vulnerable, like one wrong word or action would shatter her completely. He didn’t want to be the one to break her. Not when all he’d ever really wanted was a chance to cherish her.
He marched her into the guest bathroom and handed her a bathrobe and a towel.
“Get out of those wet things and dry off. I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” It was an open-plan home, so she wouldn’t have trouble finding him. “Bring your clothes out with you and I’ll stick them in the dryer.” His voice was sharp, but he needed it to be, to snap her out of whatever the hell was wrong with her. She nodded slowly, as if she had a hard time understanding his words, but thankfully she turned toward the basin, allowing Spencer to shut the door.
He heaved a huge sigh after closing the door and rested his forehead against the wood for a brief moment before shaking himself and heading to the kitchen. He braced his hands on one of the granite countertops and regarded the glossy, marbled dark surface for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say to her after all this. She clearly needed help, but he wasn’t sure what kind, and he wasn’t sure if he was the man for the job. He didn’t want to fuck her up any more than she already was.
She stayed hidden in the bathroom for nearly ten minutes, but he didn’t rush her, just kept the kettle going until the door creaked open and a small, bare foot tentatively stepped out from behind the door. He followed the foot up, over the much too large bathrobe that seemed to swallow her whole. The only reason it wasn’t puddling over her feet was because she had the front gripped in both hands, to prevent it from tripping her when she walked. Her wet hair was a mess, and her eyes and nose were red from an obvious bout of crying.
He smiled at her and hoped his face didn’t reflect the grimness he felt.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” He was happy that his voice sounded gentle, and she hesitated before nodding. He had never seen her this uncertain before, and it made his chest ache.
She stepped up to the island and sat on one of the tall bar stools. Completely stripped of makeup, with her skin red and blotchy, she looked a bit like a child playing dress-up in his huge robe. Spence rubbed at his chest as the ache intensified.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Two sugars, no milk.” Her voice sounded hoarse. He finished her tea and a comforting cup of cocoa for himself and handed it to her. He positioned himself on the other side of the island, directly opposite her. He reached across and thumbed away the remnants of a tear from her cheek, ignoring the way she flinched at the movement.
He took a long, restorative gulp of his hot chocolate, watching her over the rim the entire time. She was doing her best not to look at him.
“You’re going to have to meet my eyes sometime, Daff,” he told her with a slight smile.
“Yes, but not right now,” she whispered.
“Hmm.” He allowed the silence to continue for several minutes, not pressuring her, hoping she would be the first to speak. After a few long moments, she finally rewarded his patience.