Low Pressure

“Are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were awfully angry when you left the country club.”

“Not for long. I blew off some steam.”

“What did you do?”

“Went flying.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.”

The rebuke was succinct, but well aimed. She lowered her head and looked at the pair of designer pumps she was holding in her hands. She studied the black grosgrain ribbon across the toe. They were beautiful shoes, but they pinched. Why was it that she was drawn to things that were bad for her or that hurt?

“Moody showed up,” she said. “I spoke to him just before I saw you. He said—”

He interrupted her. “I don’t want to know what he said. I don’t care what he said. I’m done talking about him or anything related to that subject.” He looked her over from the top of her head to her bare feet. “If you want to take off your clothes and give me a lap dance, you can stay. If not, go back to the bosom of your rotten family and leave me the hell alone.” He gave her about half a second to make up her mind, and when she didn’t move, he snuffled. “I didn’t think so. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

Moving back into the living area, he picked up the TV remote. “Maybe I can catch the last few innings of the double-header I missed by going to your old man’s send-off.”

His rejection, coming so closely on the heels of Steven’s, was crushing. A sob erupted from her as she turned and walked toward the door.

But before she could get it open, he was there, cursing under his breath, turning her to face him. He flattened his hands on the door, caging her between it and him, and pressed his forehead against hers. “That was a terrible thing to say.”

“I guess I had it coming.”

“No, it was a low blow. It was cruel. Because I know how much you loved him, how sad you are.”

“When we’re angry, we say things we don’t mean. You’re angry.”

“As hell.” He released a long breath and rolled his forehead from side to side over hers. “I don’t know how you do it, Bellamy Lyston Price.”

“Do what?”

“Make me so damn mad.” He moved in closer. “And still keep me wanting you.”

“Do you?”

“It’s killing me.”

He pulled away a few inches. She looked up into his eyes. He couldn’t have mistaken her yearning when she focused on his mouth. But after having been turned down so many times, he wasn’t going to initiate anything. What happened next would be up to her.

She whispered, “I’m afraid.”

“Of disappointing me?”

She nodded.

“Not gonna happen.”

This was what she’d come here for. Yes, she’d wanted to apologize, but what she wanted most was to be with Dent. While pitying Steven for refusing the love that was readily, unselfishly given to him, it had occurred to her that she had done the same. She hadn’t allowed herself to love or to be loved.

Safe was a terribly lonely way to live.

She dropped her shoes to the floor and gingerly placed her hands on his chest. For a long time, they stood like that, neither moving. Then she undid a button on his shirt. After the first one, the others weren’t quite so intimidating.