“I can’t do that. I’m going back to my life tomorrow. How are you gonna feel when I’m gone?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who said I wanted a relationship? I said you could have me—not keep me.”
“You mean too much to me to sleep with you and leave.”
“How hard could it be? You could go back to ignoring me as you have all these years.”
He grit his teeth. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was busy.”
“So you were too busy sleeping around to pick up a phone, or send a text letting me know how you were doing? I wrote you letter after letter, and you never sent even one word back. Do you know how hard it was to wait for Eve to offer up a tiny little morsel of information about you—while trying so hard to pretend I didn’t give a damn?”
“Shit, Lacey, I’m sorry. I did write letters.” He looked down at her tight mouth, his heart wrenching.
“Right, you wrote letters. I just didn’t receive them. And the dog ate your homework too?” She took a step to the side, but he tightened his grip on her hips. “Let go of me. I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“I can’t yet.” He closed his eyes, trying to find a way to make her understand his reasoning. A way to make her forgive him, but he came back empty-handed and let go of her wrists. She wouldn’t understand he hadn’t cut ties with her out of spite or disinterest. For the past eight years, he’d been single. No one waited for him. He didn’t have to answer to anyone about where he had been, or who he had been with. He was free, single, and loved every minute of it. And for that, he didn’t have to apologize.
She headed for the stairs, her back stiff and head held high. As she reached the bottom step, she turned to him, her lip once again caught between her teeth. “I still don’t get it.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to chase after her and touch her again. Kiss her. Have her. “Get what?” he growled, his voice raspy and raw.
“You don’t do relationships, but only want one night stands in your life? Nothing meaningful?”
He flinched. “Yes.”
She blushed. “Then why did you stop kissing me? I wouldn’t have stopped you if you hadn’t pulled away. You could’ve had meaningless sex with someone you know for once, and I wouldn’t have cared when you left me.”
His heart twisted, while at the same time his erection screamed at him for denying himself what they both wanted. With her, she would always mean more to him than a meaningless f**k. Even if it’s all he would be to her. If he gave into the temptation to take what she offered and leave in the morning, he would never be the same. She would haunt him night and day, and he’d be able to think of nothing else but her—and what they could be if only he’d had the balls to stay.
His gaze collided with hers, ripping out his heart with the confusion he saw in hers. “Because with you … I can’t do it. I won’t.”
“I see.”
Let her take his response as she would, but it’s the best he could give her tonight. If he told her the truth, he’d only be hurting them both. Come morning, he would be back in Hollywood—if he could get a tow truck out here. And from now on, even if he went to bed alone every night, she would picture him as a man-whore, sleeping his way through Hollywood one aspiring actress at a time. He’d seen to that, even though it hurt to say something so ruthlessly untrue. She didn’t need him ruining any chance at a normal life she still had.
He’d go and f**k it up, just as he did every other relationship he’d ever attempted. She deserved better. So instead of chasing after her, he watched her walk away and up to bed. Alone.
Chapter Four
Lacey punched her pillow, angry with herself. Angry at life. Angry with Mark. Yeah, mostly angry with him. He could sleep with every floozy in Hollywood, but sleeping with her challenged his moral code?
They were stuck with each other until a tow truck could come to pull him out of the ditch. She would never get another shot at Mark Delaney again. Would it be so wrong to take advantage of the situation, and get some fun out of it? She wasn’t a shy teenager anymore. Why deny herself hot sex with her longtime crush?
He might be trying to resist the tension between them out of some misplaced sense of honor, but now was not the time for chivalry. For years, she’d watched his movies, thought back on all of the time they had spent together. She’d always wondered what would happen if they saw one another again, what she would do.
Out of all the scenarios she’d imagined, not once had she thought he would refuse to touch her, or that she would let him. She couldn’t allow him to leave without getting a taste of what could have been if he’d stayed. Lacey didn’t want to look back on this night twenty years from now, and regret not having the nerve to tell him how she felt. She wanted him.
She swung out of bed, feet hitting the cold wood floor. The clock read one a.m. Despite stewing for three hours, Lacey didn’t feel the least bit calmer. Even worse, he hadn’t come knocking on her door, apologetic and horny. Mark had held his ground. He didn’t want her. What was she doing? Surely she wasn’t desperate enough to throw herself at him. To beg.
The hell she wasn’t.
She opened her bedroom door, marched down the stairs, and into the living room. He sat on the couch watching a movie. He’d removed his jacket and striped shirt, and wore only his black pants. His tight abs, which she had admittedly suspected might have provided by a body double in his movies, taunted her. Teased her. Her fingers itched to trace the lines of each muscle. Longed to get the chance to know the intimate lines of his body.
A glass rested in his hands. The bottle was significantly emptier than when she had left. God, she hoped he wasn’t plastered. Mark looked up at her through hooded lids, the champagne flute hanging loosely between his fingers. His dark brown hair stuck up in odd little places, reminding her of how he would always drag his hand through his hair when he got upset.
She plucked the glass out of his hand then set it on the table. He raised a brow but didn’t speak. Instead, he lounged back on the couch and watched her. Reaching down, she lifted her oversized t-shirt over her head, letting it hit the floor beside her feet. Clothed in a red bra and matching panties, she lifted her chin and stared at him.
“What the hell? You n-need to put your shirt back on,” he rasped. His eyes went wide, as he fisted his hands in his lap. His gaze slid down her body before snapping back to her face. The desire in his stare was so hot she pressed her thighs together to ease the ache he’d created.