Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(59)
He still couldn’t believe it. It was like she just ignited right there in his arms, and he had to keep putting the fire out, again and again.
“Let me ask you something,” she said now. “How do you see this playing out?”
Okay. Clearly, she wasn’t feeling so fiery at the moment. She was in analysis mode.
“I’ve got six days left,” he said patiently. “I plan to spend them working on this case, same as you. But when we’re not working, I want to spend time with you. Alone.”
“And then?”
“And then I’ve got an eight-week training cycle.” And after that, he was going to come straight back to Texas to see her again.
She was gazing up at him now, but he couldn’t read her expression. She shook her head and glanced across the parking lot. “Derek—”
“Derek what? Spit it out.”
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
“Forget it.”
“No. Tell me.”
“I’m not like you.” She glared at him. “I can’t have sex with someone over and over without getting attached. I’m not wired that way. And I know you’re not looking for . . . attachments. So I don’t see the point.”
“Attachments as in a relationship?”
“Yes.”
The R-word should have been a big red stop sign, but he kept going. “Are you looking for a relationship?”
“I don’t know—maybe. Certainly not with you!”
He drew back, stung. “Well, shit. Tell me what you really think.”
She glanced away, shaking her head again, and anger welled in his chest. The rational part of his brain told him to let it go. Now wasn’t the time to argue with her. They were both sleep-deprived and stressed and surrounded by other people, and he knew he shouldn’t get offended, but God damn it, he couldn’t help it.
“I’m not relationship material. Is that what you’re saying?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not here. That’s what I’m saying. You’re gone all the time—off on training missions or overseas. And when you are here, you slip into my hotel room at three in the morning and then sneak out at sunrise, and that’s not a relationship.”
“I knew you were pissed about that.”
“Fine! Yes, I’m pissed. You made me feel sleazy and . . . forgettable.”
Forgettable. The hurt look in her eyes was like a knife in his gut. She had no idea how amazingly unforgettable she was to him.
He’d left early, yes. But if she’d been some random woman, he wouldn’t even have stayed that long. Clearly, she wasn’t up on standard operating procedure for a meaningless hookup. Usually, he completely dodged the whole morning-after scene filled with needy looks and awkward conversation. But with Elizabeth, he would have liked to have been there. He’d definitely wanted to see her sex-mussed hair and her sleepy smile, but her phone had been blowing up, and he’d known without a doubt that someone on her team was about to come banging on her door, so he’d hightailed it out of there.
And landed himself on her shit list.
Although he might have landed there anyway, because if there was one thing he was learning from this conversation, it was that despite her hot and completely eager attitude toward him last night, she now had regrets, big time. She’d finally let her guard down with him—not just once but four times—and she was using his stealth exit as a reason to blow him off.
She was uncomfortable. And if he ever wanted to see the sex goddess side of her again, he had some work to do. And he had to do it fast, because, as she’d correctly pointed out, he didn’t have much time left. And the thought of going back to base without touching her again was pretty much unbearable.
Forgettable. She had no freaking idea.
“I never meant to make you feel like that,” he said now.
“Drop it. I’m done talking about this.”
“I’m going to make it up to you.”
“I don’t want you to make it up to me. I want you to drop it.”
He took her hand. “Liz—”
“I mean it. Just forget it, okay?” She pulled her hand away. “I need you to just leave me alone and let me do my job.”
* * *
Elizabeth was still rattled an hour later when she left the office. Some of it was from lack of sleep—she was going on day eight without a solid night, and her nerves were frayed—and part of it was the pressure of working a high-stakes case.
But part of it was Derek, a big part. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, and whenever she tried to focus on work, all she could think about was the intent look on his face when he’d come to her room last night.
Torres held the door open as they stepped into the midday sunshine. Another blazing-hot day that had already hit triple digits. Heat radiated up from the asphalt, and her clothes felt glued to her skin.
“I’ll drive,” Torres said. “You’re a mess today.”
She glanced at him as they crossed the parking lot. She hadn’t realized she looked quite as awful as she felt.
“Sorry,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. She was doing something she never did, letting her personal life interfere with her work. She needed to focus. She checked her notes and programmed their destination into the GPS.