Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(55)

I could decline, and tell him that I have more to lose than he does, but considering he’s being blackmailed and I’m being used against him, I’m not sure that’s true. It is, however, a red flag. “If this is about protecting me—”

“It’s about whatever sparked between us the minute we set eyes on each other.”

I search his face, looking for some unspoken answer, and I find it in the crazy, wild sensation I always get when I look in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask about the hallway?”

“No,” he says, surprising me. “I’m not making the mistake of pushing you too fast or too hard again. I’m going to give you time to trust me, and hope that you’ll tell me then. Take the timer off, Skye. Say yes.”

I should say no. I should tell him that I have to focus on school, and life, and surviving on my own. I should not let someone into my world who I could start counting on, who could make me forget how to be alone. “Yes,” I say anyway.

He tugs the blanket and pulls me to him. “I’m not going to let you regret that answer, any more than I’m going to let you regret this weekend, or worry about that note, or the threat in it. I’m going to protect you. I’m going to take care of you.”

My mind and emotions scream, Alert! Alert! Alert! Take care of me—protect me—control me.

No. Wrong. That’s trapped elevator girl talking. The one who fears being at the mercy of anything she can’t manage herself, doing anything to keep that from happening. The smart, present-day woman can manage herself, and unfortunately she has a word far worse than control in her mind. Obligation—and his need to protect me from a threat he feels he created.

“No,” I say again.

He leans back to look at me. “No?”

“No,” I repeat. In an effort to keep intact any portion of the protective shell I had before I met this man, I add, “I think it’s best if I catch the next flight back to San Francisco.”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


JASON TIGHTENS HIS GRIP on the blanket and pulls me closer to him. “What just happened, Skye?”

“If I’m not here, I don’t need protection.”

“You can’t remove yourself from blackmail. If it were that simple, I would have already done it. And I’m not letting your life be destroyed because of me.”

“And yet you just asked me to be more a part of it?” I challenge. “If you wanted me to stay to keep an eye on me, you should have been honest with me.” I shove at his chest, suddenly unable to breathe. “Let go of me, Jason.”

“I’m not letting go until you talk to me.”

Tension knots in my belly and starts to rise higher and higher. “I don’t do well when I feel trapped. You might know little about me, but you know that part.”

His jaw clenches, and I can tell he wants to reject this idea, but he doesn’t. To his credit he releases the blanket and I toss it aside, scrambling to the edge of the bed.

“Please don’t run, Skye. Every part of me wants to reach for you again, or stand in front of you and block your way until you talk to me. But I’m willing myself to understand that your claustrophobia extends to this situation, and resist those urges.”

My lashes lower and I inhale, standing to turn toward the bed, finding him doing the same on the opposite side. “I just want to go home.”

“And I’m asking you to hear what I have to say before you make that final decision. No matter what answer you gave me about us, and no matter what decision you make about staying or going, I got you into this mess. I am, and I was always, going to get you out of it. What kind of * would I be if I didn’t? My parents raised me better than that. And why would you not even want to know me for one more day?”

It takes me a moment to digest how true his words really are. If he didn’t care about how that blackmail note affects me, he would be an *. “That’s true,” I concede.

“And?”

“And now I feel really confused about your motives and my reaction.”

He leans on the bed toward me, fists settling against the mattress. “I know it feels like my protecting you and my wanting you to expand our relationship are one and the same, but baby, I promise you, they’re not. When I said I don’t invite people into my life, and I don’t ask them to stay if they somehow end up there, that was the honest-to-God truth. I know the people you met tonight made that clear as well.”

I think of every shocked reaction my presence brought tonight and give a small but decisive nod. “Yes. Actually, pretty much everyone I met.”

“Then doesn’t that say you are anything but an obligation?”

I inhale and let it out. He’s right. I shove my hands into my hair and swallow hard. My God, what’s wrong with me? Aside from the fact that I’m letting the past, which I’d thought I had under control, dictate my every response to this man?

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” I hug myself. “I think it’s time to admit that more of the woman in the elevator is present right now than I’d like to think possible.”

He studies me a moment, those eyes of his too probing, too aware, leaving me nowhere to hide. And as insane as it is, considering I just tried to leave, I’m not sure I want to. “How am I causing this?” he asks.