Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

He wanted to, though.

The realization slammed against him with visceral, powerful intensity. Their kiss on Wednesday had been a succulent appetizer. Now, he wanted the full course. They both did--he was certain of it.

And that, of course, was the problem.

"I think you need to get over yourself," she said. But she was looking at his face, and her words betrayed her, coming a second too late and just a little too breathy.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about that kiss, too." He reached out and brushed his thumb over her lower lip. But the caress was cut short when she jerked her chin with a sharp, "Don't."

"You've played it over and over in your mind," he said, and saw confirmation in the guarded expression on her face. "And you were worried that we couldn't work together. That this thing between us would get in the way." He met her eyes. "Weren't you?"

She swallowed, her freckles standing out against the pink of her rising blush. She started moving again, sliding back into the flow of pedestrian traffic. "There's no 'thing' between us."

"The hell there isn't." Her legs were shorter than his, but he still had to work to keep pace. "There always has been. It was there the day we met. It was in the alley that night. It's between us right now. Lie about your marriage if you want to, but don't lie about that."

"What?" The word lashed out like a whip. "Lie about my marriage?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean," he countered. He wasn't proud of himself, but from the moment she'd said she was married, he'd needed to know to whom. He wanted to know what the man did. How long they'd been together. If he was worthy of having Kiki by his side.

He still had access to the Deliverance databases, and even though he'd battled back the urge to check up on her for years, last night he'd succumbed. Now he knew she'd married Owen Porter, a professor at the University of Texas, six years ago. And he knew they'd divorced eighteen months after they'd exchanged vows.

"You tossed your marriage up like a shield," he continued. "Problem is, you're not married anymore."

"Trust me," she said, with a tone of self-

mockery. "That's really not a problem."

He fought the smile that rose with the knowledge that she didn't regret her divorce. "Maybe, but you still put your marriage between us, just like building a wall."

She paused long enough to look him up and down and shake her head. "You're delusional." She started walking again, not waiting for his response. "I mentioned my married name, which just so happens to be the name I use now. There was no hidden meaning."

"Bullshit. You wanted to distance yourself. You were nervous about working together."

She was picking up speed, but he was done with chasing her. He reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging her to a stop. They'd passed the Starbucks long ago, and were now at Third Street. A right turn and another block, and they'd be at his condo.

"Come on, Kiki, admit it. You wouldn't have even responded to the RFP if you'd known it was me you were pitching to."

For a moment, she simply stood there, her hand in his, her expression entirely unreadable. Then she sighed, her shoulders dipping as if in surrender. "Probably not," she admitted. "But I didn't know, and I did go, and when I saw you, I didn't pull myself out of the running. And we both know that my pitch was the best, don't we?"

He stayed silent, and she rolled her eyes. "You think I don't know my competition's strengths and weaknesses?"

"Fine," he said. "You put up a rock solid proposal, but even while you were standing there pitching, you knew it would be hard to work together. And you know what? You were right." He dragged his fingers through his hair. "Christ, Kiki, do you think I don't know how much I hurt you? How much I owe you?"

Her brow furrowed as her expression turned wary.

"I do," he continued. "I owe you more than I can ever pay, but at the very least I owe you the courtesy of not dragging you in and disrupting your life all over again."

For a flicker of a moment, her features softened. But even as he watched, he saw the tension return. "I can't believe you." With an exasperated shake of her head, she started walking again. "You're laying all this at my feet? What about you?" she added as he fell into step beside her.

"Maybe you're feeling a little guilty for that kiss?" she continued. "Have you told Darcy or Daisy or whatever the fuck wifey's name is that you locked lips with your old girlfriend in a dark alley? Because I'm thinking you haven't. And I'm thinking she won't be happy when she learns it's your ex-girlfriend who's working late nights with you on this rollout. Better to avoid that problem entirely and just go with the candidate behind door number two."

He drew a slow breath, as guilt, regret, and longing twisted together to form a thick, tight knot in his stomach. After a moment, he said simply, "I haven't been married to Darla for a very long time."

"Oh." The word was soft and simple, and as far as he could tell, entirely devoid of emotion. She stopped walking and repeated. "Oh."

He considered explaining. Telling her the whole horrible story. But now wasn't the time. Maybe there never would be a time. Instead he said, "All I was trying to do was make things easier on you."

She winced a little, as if his words hurt her. "Maybe," she finally said, her voice no longer bitter, but gentle. "But that's not your call to make. If it hurt you to see me, then maybe that's fair. But you're not shutting me out because you're going to be uncomfortable, but because you think I am."