His voice was flat. She was two steps from him.
She’d never imagined he’d say that. “What?”
“You’ll leave.” He wouldn’t look at her. His body was coiled tensely on itself, radiating violence. “You always leave.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You’ll leave.” His voice was bleak. “We’re never good enough for you.”
He couldn’t be talking to her. He was caught in the past, stuck on some memory she couldn’t see, didn’t know. She tried again. “I’m not leaving.”
He looked up and she couldn’t recognise him.
“I’m not leaving, Peirce.”
“Yeah, she said that too.” He shrugged, a slight inclination of his shoulders. “Loved money and her real husband more, I guess. Society over substance.”
She had to make him understand. “I’m not leaving.”
He snorted.
Ladies always controlled their anger. Ladies accepted the cards fate dealt and played their hands to the best of their ability. Ladies always stayed polite, no matter how bad the circumstances.
Ladies did not hurl plates full of food at frustrating men. They did not behave like angry fishwives. They most definitely did not use profanities.
She’d learned so much in so little time.
“You arrogant son of a bitch!”
The plate hit him square in the chest, spattering his arms with food, smearing gravy down his vest, before clattering to the floor and coming to a stop by his boot. The shock on his face was almost worth the pain and hurt she was feeling.
“I spend hours preparing the perfect lunch for us, get dressed up in this fucking torture device, deal with all your past bullshit and all you can do is snort at me?”
She reached behind her to the table and its carefully organised settings. He dodged the first glass as it shattered against the wall behind him. The spoon she launched hit his arm.
“I HATE you!”
She reached for her plate of food, not caring if she destroyed the entire meal and had no leftovers for tomorrow. He’d already ruined her overture. This outburst was his damn fault.
She managed to grab the plate but he’d crossed the distance between them and stopped her from raising it up off the table. She struggled against his grip, trying to rip herself free. He didn’t let go. She held onto her righteous indignation even though his eyes had cleared, even though he was looking at her in wonderment. He began laughing and wrapped his arms around her, pressed his forehead to hers, holding her up against him, her feet dangling off the floor. “You’re something else,” he murmured.
“Put me down!”
Or, she would have said that if he hadn’t chosen that moment to kiss her so deeply she felt her toes curling in her shoes.
Then he set her down.
“You understand what you’ve just done, right?” he asked, picking up a napkin and attempting to wipe some of the food off his vest.
She couldn’t speak yet.
“I’m pushy, stubborn and mean. I yell a lot and swear too damn much. I’m irrational about stupid shit. I will beat a man to death for acknowledging you’re attractive.”
He’d backed her into the edge of the table. She stared up at him, mute, taking in every movement of his eyes, every change to the line of his mouth. He was watching her with the intensity of a predator.
“I will worship you for as long as I live and sometimes you will hate me for it.”
Now she opened her mouth to respond but he laid a finger gently over her lips, stopping her before she could say anything. “And despite all of that, I don’t care if you walk out tomorrow and leave me here,” he said hoarsely, “as long as you’re mine tonight.”