sorry,” he said roughly.
She glanced down at him. Her eyes were too shiny.
Ah, hell, he’d made her cry.
“I’m damn sorry.”
There was no real reaction, just a shift of her shoulders. “I’d offer to help you up, but I know you won’t let me.”
“Cassandra, I—” He banged his head back against the floor in frustration. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. And you don’t…repulse me.”
Her laugh was a travesty. Which made sense because in a way, so was his apology. But what was he supposed to say?
I want you until I hurt. Until I sweat.
I love you with a raw, bleeding need that I’ve never understood.
And all I know for sure is that you can never be mine.
“I don’t repulse you,” she repeated slowly. “Is that why you’d rather fall down than have me touch you? God, you are the only person in my adult life who’s ever made me feel dirty.”
He cursed again. “That’s not—”
“Please.” She held her hand out and moved away. “Please, don’t say anything else. I don’t think I can bear any more of your apology. It’s worse than your insults.”
“Damn it, come here,” he commanded.
Her eyes flared. “Screw you.”
When she made a move to step over him, he grabbed her ankle, holding her tight. “Come. Down. Here.”
“Go. To. Hell.”
“Cassandra…please.”
She put her hands on her hips and leaned over, her hair falling forward. As he breathed in, he could smell the herbal shampoo she used.
The scent dragged him right back to the one sailing jaunt he’d taken with her and Reese years ago. Reese had insisted that Alex come along, and it had been clear that the man had hoped to get his wife and his best friend on better terms. That trip had been hell. They were supposed to have been gone for five days. Alex had left the boat after two, hopping off at the first port they’d come to.
He’d tried so hard to find fault with her. He’d been desperate to latch on to annoying habits, turns of phrases that irritated him, small rudenesses that proved she wasn’t even close to the image of perfection he’d created in his mind. Instead, he’d gotten to know the different shades of her laughter. Her offbeat sense of humor. Her capacity to savor the sun setting into the ocean with the same sad reverence that beat in his own chest.
And being in close quarters with her had made him mental. Every time he’d taken a shower, he’d smelled her shampoo as if the stuff had saturated the air just to mock him. He hadn’t been able to use the bar of soap at all because he knew it had been over her skin.
The nights had been…unbearable.
But all that was before she’d walked in and seen him naked. Or rather, he’d come out of the head after a shower, assuming she and Reese were off the boat swimming. He’d heard the sound of indrawn breath and looked over his shoulder. She’d been in the galley kitchen pouring lemonade, and the glass and the pitcher had come unconnected as she’d stared at him. The sound of splashing liquid had been loud in the silence.
He’d covered himself with a towel and leaped back into the head. Gathering himself over the little sink, he’d thanked God that she’d only seen the back of him. Because the front had grown hard and heavy the instant he’d felt her eyes on him.
He’d left the boat within the hour.
Now, as he breathed in again and the scent of her hair tunneled into his nose, he wanted to pull her down on top of him and bury his face in those copper waves. He wanted one of her thighs on either side of his hips. He wanted that skirt of hers up around her waist. He wanted—
“Let go of me,” she said tightly.
“No. Come closer.” He paused and tacked on, “Please.”
He hoped the word would work its magic once again.
As she slowly dropped to her knees, she seemed more confused than angry. He wanted to reach out and take her hand in his. He didn’t dare.
“Look, Cassandra, I’ve spent too much time on the sea with ex-frat boys who are past civil redemption. And my social skills were in the crapper before all that. My temper’s always been sharp, but lately I’ve been god-awful to be around. I shouldn’t have asked you to come up here.” He cleared his throat. “So I really am sorry.”
Her clear, green eyes traced over his face. Such intelligent eyes, he thought. Such warm eyes, though their color was pale.
Gradually the tension left her forehead and her mouth, and she stopped blinking so much.
“You can make it up to me.”
“How?” he asked.
“Tell me about your leg. Is it healing?”
Even though the last thing in the world he wanted to talk about was his injury, he figured he owed her an answer.
“No. It’s not getting better. They took out the bone and put in a titanium rod. The damn thing didn’t take, so they installed a different kind six weeks ago. I’ll find out on Monday what happens next.”
“What if it didn’t work again?”
“Then I’m out of options.”
“Out of—” She covered her beautiful mouth with a hand. The pinkie trembled against her jawline. “Oh, Alex.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. No matter what happens, I’ll deal with it. It’s fine.”
And no more than he deserved for letting a fine man die. Her man die.
He thrust his palms into the floor and pushed his torso upright.
“Will you let me help you up?” she asked.
“No. But you can bring me my crutch.”
He hated the idea of hauling himself off the floor in front of her and was grateful when she didn’t stare. After he was back on the bed, he shut his eyes, suddenly exhausted.
He heard her moving across the room, toward the door.
“Please finish the food. It will help you heal,” she said softly. When he didn’t reply, she pressed. “I’ll be back to pick that plate up. I’m hoping it will be clean.”
The door opened and shut.
Dimly he became aware that his leg was throbbing to the beat of his heart. He waited to see if the shooting agony would go away. The pain got worse.
He knew what that meant. It was going to be a long night.
