Rush Too Far (Rosemary Beach #4)(26)

“I’ve already eaten, but thank you,” she said, then bit down on her lower lip as she looked longingly at the bacon. What the hell was that all about? And when had she eaten? I’d been up for two hours, and she hadn’t been out of her room.

I set down the fork I was using and focused on her instead of the bacon. “How have you already eaten? You just woke up.” I watched her carefully in case she decided not to tell me the complete truth. If this was about her not wanting to eat in front of me or some ridiculous girl issue like that, she was going to have to get over it.

“I keep peanut butter and bread in my room. I had some before I came out.”

What the hell did she just say? “Why do you keep peanut butter and bread in your room?” I asked.

She nibbled nervously on her lip a moment, then let out a sigh. “This isn’t my kitchen. I keep all my things in my room.”

She kept all her things in her room? Wait . . . what? “Are you telling me that you only eat peanut butter and bread when you’re here? That’s it? You buy it and keep it in your room, and that is all you eat?” A sick knot had formed in my stomach that I hadn’t felt since I was a kid. If she told me all she ate was f**king peanut-butter sandwiches, I was going to lose it. Had I made her think she couldn’t eat my food? Fuck!

She nodded slowly. Those big eyes of hers were even bigger now. I was an ass**le. No . . . I was worse than an ass**le.

I slammed my hand against the counter and focused on the bacon while I tried like hell to get control of myself.

This was my fault. Fuck me, this was all my fault. She never complained when any other woman on the planet would have. And she was eating motherf*cking peanut-butter sandwiches every day. My chest hurt. I couldn’t do this anymore. I’d tried. I was done keeping her at a distance.

“Go get your stuff and move upstairs. Take any room on the left side of the hall you want. Throw that damn peanut butter away, and eat whatever the hell you want in this kitchen,” I told her.

She remained frozen in her spot. Why wasn’t she listening to me?

“If you want to stay here, Blaire, move your ass upstairs now. Then come down here and eat something out of my motherf*cking fridge while I watch,” I growled. She stiffened at my response. I needed to calm down. I didn’t want to scare her; I just wanted her to move upstairs, dammit. And eat some bacon!

“Why do you want me to move upstairs?” she asked softly.

I moved the last piece of bacon to the paper towel before looking at her again. Seeing her hurt me physically. Knowing that I’d treated her so poorly and that she’d taken it was making it hard to f**king breathe. “Because I want you to. I hate going to bed at night and thinking about you asleep under my stairs. Now I have the image of you eating those damn peanutbutter sandwiches all alone in there, and it’s a little more than I can deal with.” There, I’d said it.

She didn’t argue this time. She turned around and walked back into the pantry. I stood there and waited until she walked back out, carrying her suitcase in one hand and a jar of peanut butter and some bread in the other. She put the jar and the bread on the counter without looking at me and walked toward the hallway.

I was working to hold on to the edge of the counter to keep from grabbing the jar of peanut butter and smashing it against the wall. I wanted to hit something. The ache inside was taking over, and I needed to hurt something to ease the anger. Anger that was directed completely at myself for being a self-absorbed ass. I had been so f**king worried about not touching her that I’d neglected her in other ways. She was living off f**king peanut butter.

“I don’t have to move upstairs. I like that room.” Blaire’s soft voice broke into my thoughts, and I had to grip the counter even tighter. I’d mistreated her. Neglected her needs. All I wanted was to touch her and f**king smell her and hold her, but I’d let her down. I wasn’t going to be able to forgive myself for this.

“You belong in one of the rooms upstairs. You don’t belong under the stairs. You never did,” I said, without looking at her.

“Would you at least tell me which room to take? I don’t feel right picking one out. This isn’t my house.”

I was scaring her. One more thing she didn’t deserve. I let go of my grip on the counter and looked over at her. She seemed ready to bolt back to the pantry at any minute.

“The rooms on the left are all guest rooms. There are three of them. I think you’ll enjoy the view from the last one. It looks out over the ocean. The middle room is all white with pale pink accents. It reminds me of you. So you go choose. Whichever one you want. Take it, then come down here and eat.”

“But I’m not hungry. I just ate—”

“If you tell me you ate that damn peanut butter again, I am going to throw it through a wall.” Fuck, the thought of that made me furious. I took a deep breath and focused on sounding calm. “Please, Blaire. Come eat something for me.”

She nodded her head and climbed the stairs. I should have taken her suitcase for her, but I knew she didn’t want me near her right now. She needed to do this alone. I’d just acted like a crazy man. I washed out the skillet that I’d cooked the bacon in. Once it was put away and Blaire still hadn’t come back downstairs from choosing her room, I took a large plate out of the cabinet and filled it with eggs and bacon before sitting down at the table. She could eat off my plate.