“Your father was in the army?”
“No. No father.”
“Just your mother?”
He put the book down with a sigh. “Could you be any less subtle?”
“You started it,” she pointed out. He’d offered information as a way of drawing her out. “Why don’t you want to talk to me about your past?”
“Why don’t you want to talk to me about yours?”
She glared at him. “Fine.” She turned on her heel and strutted away from him. “Asshole,” she muttered.
“I’m just doing as you asked me to,” he called after her. “You’re saying you’ve changed your mind?”
She turned back to face him. “You should leave.” She wanted to beg him to.
“So you would rather I left.” He stretched back in his lounger.
She sighed—because she couldn’t say such a lie. “You’re so unfair.”
“Life is unfair,” he answered bluntly.
As if she didn’t know that well enough already? Unfair and unpredictable. You never knew how long you had. Never knew what curveball life was going to throw next. But some things she did know—she’d learned. Playing with fire got a girl burnt and she’d have to be a masochist to want to get burned again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THIS WAS EXACTLY why she’d resisted for so long. This hellish constantly racing pulse, the cold sweats and sleeplessness. She was more than aching now, she was shaking—worse than an addict doing cold turkey detox. She’d been wrecked for every one of the forty-eight hours since he’d walked away from her without so much as a backwards glance. He made her feel too much. All she could think about was how good he’d made her feel.
She’d forgotten how great sex could be. Correction, she’d never known how great it could be and that pretty much broke her heart all over again. The experiences she’d had in the past? The relationships? They paled in comparison and she felt more than fickle. She felt guilty, like she’d betrayed the one person she shouldn’t.
So for almost every one of those forty-eight hours she’d worked—forcing smiles and laughter, doing fancy coffee creations and flamboyant cocktail tricks for the honeymooners. She’d avoided looking at the silent guy who’d sat at the end of the bar each night until the end of her shift. And who’d then left without saying a word.
He hadn’t needed to. The burning look he’d sent her said it all.
During the day he’d walked over to the coffee bar as if he hadn’t a care in the world. They’d exchanged no words. They weren’t necessary. She knew his order. He had nothing else to say. She couldn’t bring herself to make her customer service small talk. Hell, she’d hardly been able to control her shaking hands enough to make his espresso.
But now, two days since that night, as the sun rose high in the sky, she couldn’t handle the tension anymore. She couldn’t cope with him being near, but not having him. She’d get him out of her system for good this time. The second she’d finished her morning shift, she stalked across the sand to his private hut.
He was out the front, sprawled in a lounger in an annoyingly relaxed fashion, reading another book.
Burning with brazen need she marched up, letting her shadow fall over him. “I think we should fuck it some more,” she said baldly.
He didn’t glance up from the book. “Do you?”
His response was teeth-grindingly mild.
“Yes.” Hell yes. She put her hands on her hips and stepped nearer, determined to make him see her.
“Why?” He still didn’t look up from the wretched book.
“Because you were right and I was wrong.” But her heart thundered because he wasn’t moving. Was he going to turn her down?
Of course. He wasn’t about to leap to his feet and do her bidding—hadn’t she learned that already? Nobody told Hunter Shaw what to do. She’d been arrogant to assume he’d just roll over and say yes now…
Or was this like the other night when he’d teased her? Heaven knew she deserved it if he was drawing it out to torment her. She’d messed him around terribly. But at the same time, she’d needed time to get to grips with how intense this was.
She stared at him. Willing him to do something, say something… Why wouldn’t he answer her? Why wasn’t he walking her to his villa already? Why wasn’t he showing any kind of reaction? Did he not want her anymore? Had one night been enough for him?
“Are you punishing me for making you wait so long. Again?” she asked, unable to hold back her insecurity a second longer.
His grip on the book tightened to the point where his knuckles were white. “I don’t punish women,” he gritted.
She shook her head. No, he didn’t. Her legs felt empty and her mouth dried. It was like she had some damn tropical fever. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry for not being honest.” She blew out a strained breath. “For not being honest sooner.”
Finally he lifted his gaze from the page to her face. His eyes were full of unreadable emotion. “Are you being honest now?”
“Completely.” She couldn’t quite hold his gaze though, dropping her focus to his book. “In regards to you at least.”
“In regards to me.”
“Yes.” She drew breath and forced herself to be brave—the way she pretended to the rest of the world all the time. Usually it was easy. But when it came to Hunter, it was almost impossible. It mattered too much. He made her feel too much. He always had.
“I want to please you,” she whispered. “The way you’ve pleased me. I want to make it up to you.”
He flinched, a tiny movement, but it was enough. She’d gotten under his impassive armor.
“How do you plan to do that?” His voice roughened.
She leaned closer to him. “Any way you want me to.”
He didn’t take his gaze off hers as he slowly shook his head. “You’re cheating again. Leaving it up to me.” He pointedly looked back down to his book. “You come up with the ideas.”
He wanted her to take the lead? A thread of insecurity unwound in a last whisper. “But you want me?”
The book thudded on the sand as he leapt up with such force that the lounger tipped over. “I chased you halfway around the damn world for the first few days I’ve taken for myself in years. We’ve had one measly night together. One. Of course I fucking want you, how can you possibly need to ask?”
A flush burned her cheeks as his anger roused hers. “Because I thought that one night might have been enough for you.”
“Like it was for you?” He rolled his eyes, flinging a hand out in irritation. “Your insecurity is appalling. It was never going to be enough for me. I agreed to ‘one night’ because that was your deal-breaker. I always wanted more. Once was never going to be enough for me.”
“I’m sorry.” She repeated as warmth rolled over her. She was so appallingly relieved. “So sorry.”
And he could be fantastically honest when he wanted. When he flipped from silent to talk-mode, he stole her breath completely.
“Don’t be.” He stepped closer. “It is what it is.”
She stared at his rippling muscles.
“Though…” He cocked his head thoughtfully, his eyebrows lifting as he studied her expression. “If you really want to, you can show me how sorry you are.”
Her palms were damp and her heart still skipping, but she was so turned on. His silence heightened the challenge. She realized he was still feeling it—the strain not just from these last couple of days when she’d denied them both, but from the months since they’d first met.
He was angry with her. And that was fair enough. But she knew his anger wasn’t all because of her, there was hurt in him that had nothing to do with her. He was using her to soothe it—like a sexual balm. She understood because it was the same for her. And there was a hunger that only he fed. Lacing her fingers through his, she led him across this sand into his hut, straight through to the bedroom.
“Sit,” she ordered.
She stepped b
ack and in the sublime privacy slowly shimmied out of her uniform. Putting on a performance for him as he watched from his position at the edge of the big bed.
“You’re going to have to work harder to make it up to me,” he said roughly.
She glared at him and grabbed a condom from the box by his bed. She yanked down his shorts only just enough to roll the condom on him. He didn’t help her, not even when she had to start again because her stupid fingers were trembling.