That impossibly sexy slow grin of his returned. “Good. Then dinner’s ready.”
And as he brushed past her, the faintest whisper of his arm against hers, Suzette realized that her heart — traitorous, hopeful thing — was already far too involved.
8
He was in hell. Pure and simple.
Suzette sat opposite him spooning up the fish chowder like it was the most ordinary dinner in the world. As if she wasn’t driving him out of his damn mind. The faint clink of her spoon against the bowl was torture. Because all he could think about — all hecouldn’t stopthinking about — was the fact that she wore nothing beneath that short denim skirt.
He wanted to shove aside the dishes, lift her onto the table, and devour her. To taste what he already knew was a feast. He’d had her once, mere weeks ago, and the memory of it still burned through him like whiskey. He wanted more. Again.Always.
But he’d made himself a promise.
He would take his time this round. Woo her. Prove that he wasn’t some fame-drunk, sex-starved cliché of an aging movie star, but a man with restraint. With purpose. A man worthy of the woman sitting across from him — this extraordinary, self-possessed woman who couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes.
Her lashes were lowered, her cheeks faintly flushed, and she ate with the careful focus of someone pretending not to feel the pull between them.
And that pretense — that quiet, aching composure — was his undoing.
He placed his spoon down. The chowder might as well have been sawdust.
“This,” he began, forcing himself to speak slowly, carefully, “is not just some fling for me.”
She glanced up through her lashes, wary. “What do you mean?”
“What I feel for you, Suzette, goes far deeper than mere attraction.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, searching her face for even a flicker of understanding. “I’ve never married. Never even lived with another woman. Because I’ve never met anyone I wanted to shareeverymoment of my life with. Until you.”
Her jaw dropped; her spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered softly into the bowl. “Until—” She blinked, as if trying to make sense of the words. “And you think I’m that woman.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I believe so.”
Disbelief swept over her face, tightening her mouth, clouding her bright eyes. “Aw, come on, Justin. You don’t really expect me to believe that I’m anything more than a … than a fling.”
Her voice trembled on the last word. Not angry, not mocking, but wounded, as though she wanted to believe him and couldn’t afford to.
He opened his mouth to answer, but the words caught somewhere in his chest, weighted by the truth of what she’d just said — and how desperately he wanted to prove her wrong.
“That’s why I’m here,” he said, the words rougher than he intended. “To show you. To let youknowme.” He beat a fist lightly against his chest, emotion tightening his voice. “The realme — not the man on the screen, not the headlines or the glossy magazine covers — butme. Justin Knox McKenzie.”
He gave a small, almost self-conscious laugh, shaking his head. “A man who calls his mother every Sunday, who cannot fold a fitted sheet to save his life, and who” — his gaze locked with hers, steady and unflinching — “hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you since the moment you walked into my life.”
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
“Why not?” he asked quietly.
She gave a short, disbelieving laugh. Sharp, defensive. “Seriously? You might not have married or lived with someone, but you’ve dated some of the most beautiful women in the world. And no” — she lifted a hand before he could speak — “don’t deny it. Because you have.”
He stayed silent, watching the flicker of emotion cross her face. Pride. Fear. Hurt. She was building her walls brick by brick right in front of him, and damn if it didn’t kill him to see it.
“And yes,” she continued, her voice softer now, “I might’ve given in to … basic instinct in Texas, but that was it. I scratched the itch. That’s all. No more.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut.
An itch.Was that really all he had been? Anitch?
She looked up at him then, eyes bright and wounded. “I can’t afford to let you upset my life, Justin. I’ve worked too hard to put the pieces back together after Braam … I … I can’t—” Her voice broke, barely a whisper. “I can’t let you be the one who breaks me again.”
He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to cross the table, to reach for her, to tell her he’d die before he hurt her. But the way she was looking at him — steady, aching, terrified — stopped him cold.
