“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said, turning away from her.
“It is,” she said. “Either that or you don’t want to spend any time alone with me.”
He turned back toward her. “Of course, I want to be alone with you.”
“Do you?” She was afraid to push him, but she was more afraid coming to Nashville had been a mistake. He’d been sweet and polite and gracious and all she could think was he was acting that way because he realized he’d made a mistake asking her there.
“Because we haven’t talked. Not really. Not about this.” She gestured between them. “Not about what’s going on right now. I don’t need you to show me everything I’ve missed. I need you to show me where we’re supposed to go from here.”
He braced his hands on the counter. “I’m trying, Rowan.”
“Trying to what?” She heard the frustration in his voice, but she was just as frustrated.
“Trying to do the right thing. Trying to make up for my mistakes—past and present. I’m trying to not be the selfish asshole who drags you off to his bed.”
A wave of heat rushed through her body before it pooled between her legs. “Maybe you should try being a selfish asshole, because being the apologetic good guy isn’t working.”
“You want me to be an asshole? I’ll be an asshole.” He took three large steps, gripped her head between his hands, and smashed his lips to hers.
Finally.
