Protecting What's Mine(55)

“That’s what people say when it’s someone else’s plan.”

“Baby, I’m just asking you to be open to the possibility.”

“The possibility of what? Fucking you and one of us discarding the other after a few weeks? Or giving up the career I’ve had my eye on since I was six years old and becoming a small-town wife?”

He wasn’t sure which outcome scared her more. “Fine. We’ll move. Anywhere your career takes you. Me and Sunshine will be there.”

“Linc.” Her voice broke. “We haven’t even had sex, and you’re planning a future.”

“We can remedy that soon enough.” His dick pulsed its agreement. “But I’d rather talk to you first. What’s got you so riled, Mackenzie?”

“Riled?” She paced in front of him.

Irritation crackled off her. Irritation and that fear again.

“You pressuring me is not attractive.”

He felt his own spine stiffen. So they were both button pushers. “I’m not pressuring you. I didn’t shove your hand down my pants. I didn’t take your shirt off.”

Flustered now, he saw. Her cheeks were flushed. Eyes glassy.

“Just because you’re used to getting in a woman’s pants doesn’t mean you’re getting in mine,” she said.

“What the hell is this, Mack?” Now he was getting mad.

“I’m saying your confidence doesn’t mean I have to fuck you.”

“You’re damn right it doesn’t. Now, tell me what this is really about. Because I’m not ashamed of how I live my life. How I treat the people in it.”

“You bounce from woman to woman, never getting too close. Now, you’re claiming that I’m ‘different’ and I’m ‘special’ and I need to give up everything so I can be different and special for you.”

Linc’s hands closed into fists on his knees. “I’m gonna give you a pass on that one. Because you’re pissed off and scared. But don’t put your shit on me. I’ve been nothing but honest with you.”

“Are you saying I haven’t been honest with you?”

“I’m saying you aren’t being honest with yourself. You’re scared because you feel something. I feel it, too. But the difference is I’m up for the adventure. I’m not interested in hiding from it. Maybe you’re more comfortable with being numb?”

She threw her hands up in the air. “I can’t believe I almost—”

“What?” he asked, standing. “Let yourself feel something real? Be not completely in control for once in your life?”

“Fuck off, Linc.”

“Back at you, Dreamy,” he said, brushing past her to the door. “You can let yourself out.”

He’d deny her the fight she was itching for. The reason she could use to back away. Call it quits. Hide.

He wanted to stay in the gym. To pound his mad out on the heavy bag. He hated that even after she’d dug her claws into him, after she’d taken a direct shot, he was still hard for her. He still wanted her. Desperately.

But he was just the affable good guy with no real feelings. Or the manwhore.

The front door closed with an almost slam.

She left. Her lipstick still intact. But his heart wasn’t.





26





Mack limped into her place under a full head of steam. The evening hobble around the block had done little to calm her temper.

“How dare he,” she said to her empty living room. She stormed into the kitchen, intending to make a cup of tea. But, as was now her habit, she looked out the window. Linc was still in his gym. He was shirtless now. Even from this distance, she could see the sweat glisten on that perfect body. He threw a vicious uppercut into the bag with a rage she felt echo in her bones. She turned her back on the scene.

“Making assumptions. Calling me a control freak and a coward.” He hadn’t. Exactly. Not in those words. But he’d implied it.

“He has no right to judge me,” she muttered to herself and opened the refrigerator.

There was an open bottle of white wine on the door. She filled a glass almost to the rim.

She was agitated. With the boot, she couldn’t run. She couldn’t work out the way she was used to. That was it.

Or maybe it was the fact that he spoke the truth.

The tiny voice in her head was unwelcome. And annoying.

“I decide who I want to sleep with and when,” she said aloud.

She’d wanted to sleep with him. She’d wanted to straddle him on a weight bench and ride him, chests pressed, sweat mingling, breath coming hard.

But she’d thought of her shadows. Of the scars. And had changed her mind. She closed her eyes. She hadn’t changed her mind. She’d chickened out.

She spared another glance out the window. He was still boxing. Brutal. Violent.

Mad she could respect.

He hadn’t unleashed that on her. He hadn’t risen to the bait of a fight. And in doing so, he’d won.

“What is wrong with me?” She glanced down, realized she didn’t have a fluffy yellow lab waiting to hear her confessional. She was alone. As always.

Mack took the wine into the living room and turned on the TV. If she couldn’t run the mad out of her system maybe she could binge-watch it away.