Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(20)

Flayed open, there was no way not to feel what Sofie gave to him in that darkened library… it was something he’d barely recognized.

Love.

She’d shown him love. Him, a guy who could barely manage the meager scrap of a life he’d built for himself.

Greedily he took what she’d readily given. The way he felt in her arms, all that love radiating from her, felt better than the quiet torment chasing him most days.

She had given, he had taken. No question who profited most from that transaction.

After he’d taken his own release he had been filled with self-loathing rivaling the self-loathing he’d felt for years under the hand of his domineering father—and that was saying something.

Way he saw it, Donovan had ruined Sofie. Taken the sweetest, kindest, most caring woman to ever touch him and blackened the last precious part of her.

I don’t do virgins.

The words stung to say then. They stung him now. Unfortunately for Scampi, Donovan hadn’t known what to do with the mess of feelings he wasn’t coping with that night, so he’d latched on to the emotion that had seen him through many hard times.

Anger.

She was wrong when she’d said he didn’t need to be angry. He needed to be angry. Then and now, but for the same reason: to keep her away from him. The look in her eyes, the way she was taking him in. The sympathy there…

Looked like someone had forgotten what an * he could be.

Still am.

Well. He’d remind her.

Moving closer to her, he stepped forward as she stepped back, until she reached the countertop and bumped against it. She had to lift her chin to take him in. He was so close, her breasts brushed lightly against his shirt. Reaching past her, he gripped the edge of the countertop, his arm brushing hers. Touching her made him want to touch her more. She snatched her arm away.

Good girl. Remember how repulsive I am.

Someone needed to remember, because suddenly, he found himself not wanting to push her away, either.

Dangerous. For both of them.

She was visibly flustered, biting her lip, winding her fingers together, yet her steady gaze met his.

“Second thought…” He lowered his head to her ear and breathed in more of her. “We don’t have to fight.”

Tempting to leave it at that.

The fragrance of her hair, slightly sweet like her, lifted and swirled in his senses. She smelled the same as he remembered. Sweet. Sweet like every inch of her tasted back when he didn’t know what she was about to give him. She’d offered every part of herself to him. She hadn’t been obligated.

Her hand laid on his chest, now, bringing him back to the present. Her small palm warmed him on contact—a touch he hadn’t felt in forever.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she said, proving herself less susceptible to his manipulations than before.

He backed away from her ear but maintained his closeness, letting a careless smile grace his lips. The sentiment was fake. He cared. Too much. That was why he needed her pissed at him. “If your guess is getting you to agree to another bounce on the library sofa, you’re right.”

Her mouth gaped and she pulled in a quiet breath.

“Wrong,” she finally managed, her voice cold and hard.

There it was. She remembered.

Pushing her further, he said, “Come on, Scampi. I kiss you, you melt to your knees. We both know it.”

She shook her head, her palm pushing him away. “You’re not kissing me. Not ever again.”

Even though it was what he wanted her to say, it cut to hear. His chest took the blow, her words denting the armor installed over his heart.

You deserve it.

A little more prodding, and she’d be good and pissed off. Then he could get done what he needed to do without her distracting him. He could return to New York, leaving the Cove behind permanently. And Sofie could live out the rest of her days in peace knowing he’d never see her again.

Another blow. Another dent. His jaw tightened.

Come on, Pate. Man up.

Whatever emotions she’d kicked up, he didn’t get to feel them. Remorse, anger, a dab of guilt, yes. But not this. Not cared for, or liked, or her innate kindness. He didn’t get to have someone like Sofie, not after what he’d taken from her. He didn’t deserve her, and more importantly, she didn’t deserve him.

Stepping back a few inches, he gave her some physical space, enough to allow her angry gaze to burn into him.

Now to shove angry into infuriated.

“Guessing you picked up a few tricks since we were together.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Closer.

He smirked. “Or a lot of tricks.”

Her jaw tensed. Her eyebrows lowered.

Jackpot.

In his peripheral, he registered her lifting her palm.

He’d never been able to watch an incoming hit. Even after he’d pulled himself out of the cage of fear his father had shoved him into. Even after he’d stood up for himself. Even after he’d started fighting back. Out of years of habit, and in the nanosecond before her hand did what he expected—cracked across his face—he closed his eyes. Braced himself to accept what was coming.

Seconds passed.

Nothing came.

Not angry words. Not the sting of her palm on his cheek. Nothing.

He opened his eyes to find Sofie’s anger had ebbed, replaced with a gentle expression reflecting her softhearted, trusting nature.