Page 74 of Lucky Shot

“That’s rich.” I laugh. “Coming from the woman who walked out without a word and took a different plane to avoid talking about what happened last night.”

“We both know what happened. There’s no need to rehash it.”

I’ve gotten under her skin. That’s clear as day.

“Except your actions say otherwise. What is it, Whitney? You have regrets? I touch a nerve somehow? You wanted me to cross your boundaries and disrespect you?” I ask with incredulousness. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it. What did I miss?”

Panic makes a brief appearance in her eyes before she locks it down. I hate seeing it but know that feeling intimately. I know how crippling it can be.

“I don’t want anything from you other than the rest of your time at the camp.”

My laugh is loud and its sarcasm taunting as it echoes around the concrete garage. I know there was more than that there last night. Hell, there’s been more than that building between us over the past two weeks. “Avoiding a private jet seems to be the fitting response to that request, no?”

She throws her hands up as her pitch escalates. “What do you want from me? We had some fun. We messed around. We both got off. Big fucking whoop.”

“And none of that enticed you to want more, right?”

“No, that’s not it, it’s just . . .” She is visibly frustrated, almost like a child who wants something but can’t verbalize it.

“It’s just what?” I ask, head angled to the side as I try to figure out the wonder and confusion that is this woman.

“It’s nothing. Just tell me what it is you want from me, and I’ll give it to you so we can stop this stupid charade and move on.”

“More time with you,” I state without thinking.

“You’re out of your fucking mind.” She points and jabs me in the chest. “You’ll get it. We have camp together.”

“Outside of camp.”

She shakes her head and stares at me like I’m crazy. “Did you forget that we live in two different worlds that don’t mesh at all? Last night was enough of an example of that.”

“That’s the excuse you’re going to use now?”

“It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth.” She shrugs.

“It seems we’re not looking at the same truths then,” I say.

“The same truths? How whatever you’re wanting from whatever this is just isn’t going to work? Besides, before you know it, you’ll be packed up and headed back home to England and your life there.”

“So because I have a life to return to, we can’t hang out together now?” I ask, trying to figure out where all this hostility is coming from. How did we go from being great together to this?

Last night really happened, right? The laughs during the premiere . . . the flirting and touches throughout the night . . . getting each other off. We even fell asleep together.

What am I missing?

“Hang together now is code word for you needing to finish what you came for—sleeping together. That’s the only reason you’re here, no doubt.”

“What is it with you and that default, Whit? Do I want that? Hell yeah. Especially after last night. But I’m the one who respected your boundaries and now you’re punishing me for it.”

“Respecting my boundaries would be you not standing here right now, badgering me. But oh, I forgot. The job’s not done. You need to show that charitable status of yours and cement your reputation overhaul tour. No doubt a pity fuck with the charity case would do that for you.”

Fury races through me. A pity fuck? Is that what she thought last night was? A one-off, get off, where I tested every thread of my restraint and didn’t touch her except for that one time? Where I fought every goddamn urge not to push her up on the bed and drive into her? But that was out of pity and not respect?

She lifts her chin a little higher. It serves to show me the column of her throat and allow me to envision kissing my way down its delicate skin. Defiance when lying is still defiance.

And fuck if it didn’t just remind me of what she looked like last night—eyes heavy with lust, lips parted, and body strung so tight it begged to come.

Fuck that.