“Maisie isn’t baggage.” I spoke softly, feeling like he was withdrawing from me.
“She’s the best thing in my life. My life is hers now. Totally and completely. I have nothing to offer a woman. You deserve to have a man who does, especially the first time.”
I frowned. “So you’ve given up on ever finding love again?” I could accept that I wasn’t the woman for Dylan even if I wanted to be, but I couldn’t believe that someday there wouldn’t be a woman that would make him and Maisie happy. I’d hate that woman even as I would be happy that he’d found love again.
“I’ve had step parents.” His eyes darkened in a way I hadn’t seen before. Clearly, something happened to him as a child. “I won’t put Maisie through that. And I certainly don’t want my heart stomped on again.”
As I stared into his dark eyes, my heart went out to him. I hated the people in his life that had hurt him and made him fearful of love.
“How come men are able to have sex because it’s enjoyable, but for a woman it needs to be some sort of fairy tale?” I asked.
“It doesn’t. But a woman who has waited as long as you usually does so for a reason.”
“You’ve had experience in this, have you?” I should have just shut up and gone home. Pushing him wasn’t going to change things, and in the end, I’d be more embarrassed than I already was.
He smiled sheepishly. “Actually, no. But having gotten to know you over the last year, I can see you’re not an impulsive woman. Everything you do is with a plan. Men, on the other hand, tend to be a slave to urges. It’s like an itch.”
“You don’t think women have urges?” I did. My entire body hummed with need for him to touch me.
“Yes. But they’re also able to control them. As you clearly do.”
I
was finding it hard not to lean forward through the foot-wide chasm between us and plant my lips on his. What kept me from following that urge was that his statement suggested that, as a man, he wouldn’t be able to control a sexual urge. I was practically throwing myself at him, so if he was a slave to his urge, he’d have taken me up on my clear offer. That meant he didn’t feel an urge with me. Of course, he didn’t. He saw me as a college kid, not a sensual woman.
Realizing I’d started leaning toward him, I shifted back, swallowing the burn of embarrassment.
“I’ve hurt your feelings,” he said, his voice soft and concerned. His empathy was another thing I loved about him. Why couldn’t he be a jerk?
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault that you don’t find me attractive.”
His brows narrowed. “I never said that.”
I pursed my lips in annoyance. “You just said men can’t control their urges. If that’s true, it means you have no urges around me.”
He stared at me for a long moment, and I had a feeling he was having a tug-of-war with himself.
“I have an urge,” he finally said.
“Don’t patronize me.” For some reason, his lying about it hurt me more than knowing I didn’t turn him on.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
Again, he stared at me like he was trying to decide his next move. Finally, he took my hand and pressed it over his groin. My eyes widened as I felt the steel length of his arousal. I slid my fingers around it to gauge its girth. I ran them along the length. Like everything else about Dylan, it was impressive.
He hissed a breath. “See? Urge.”
My gaze went to his eyes, which were now blazing. It made my body heat up to scorching. I felt like I’d die if he didn’t touch me.
“I want to see you,” I said, my words coming out breathless.
“Tessa …”
I squeezed his dick hard, making him gasp.
“I’m not asking for something you can’t give.”