For Better or Worse

A corner of her mouth lifted at that. “What, slightly bitchy?”

He smiled back. “Not bitchy. More . . . unabashed.”

She snorted. “Just how every woman wants to be described by a man she . . .”

Josh’s gaze sharpened. “A man she what?”

Heather froze, as every swear word in the book ran through her head at warp speed.

“Nothing. I don’t know,” she said, dropping her fork onto her plate and carrying it to her sink even though she hadn’t finished her pie. Didn’t matter. Her appetite was long gone.

Josh followed her, his own plate in hand, although his was empty. He set it beside hers on the counter, and when Heather tried to move away to put more distance between them, he lifted his arm, resting one hand on the counter so that she couldn’t move forward without touching his arm.

And touching him was really not on the agenda right now.

“A man you what, 4C?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I really don’t. Really. I don’t know what I was going to say.”

It was true. Even now she wasn’t sure what word her brain was trying to come up with. It was as though the sentence had come from the deep, forbidden part of herself that she kept on lockdown.

“Take a guess,” he said, coming infinitesimally closer. Not enough to touch, just enough for her to feel his body warmth. Smell his cologne. See the dark gold of his five o’clock shadow.

“You’re not the only one who thinks some things are better left unsaid, Josh.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. “No?”

She shook her head and took a step backward so she could move around him the other way, but he lifted his other arm, slowly lowering his hand to the countertop so that she was good and truly caged by his arms.

And they were good arms.

Even beneath his dress shirt she could see the curve of the biceps, see the way the fabric stretched across his chest and shoulder. Her eyes dropped to where the top button lay open, just enough to perfectly frame his Adam’s apple and give a glimpse of the smooth skin beneath.

And suddenly Heather knew exactly what word her subconscious had been trying to say:

Want.

This was a man she wanted.

Rather desperately.

All of the swear words sounded in her head again, louder this time.

She might want him, but she didn’t want this. Didn’t want to be another of his flings, another in a long line of Josh Tanner’s conquests. Hell, not a week ago she’d watched that Kitty girl slink into his apartment all trim and sexy and shiny haired.

And tomorrow there’d be another Kitty, and the night after that yet another, and—

“Heather.”

“What?” This time she wasn’t brave enough to meet his eyes.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head.

“You’re sure you don’t want to finish that sentence?”

“Positive,” she blurted out.

His laugh was startled, maybe a little hurt, but more likely it was just his ego that was stinging. She suspected not very many women rejected him.

But then not that many women had to live next door to him, either.

Lucky for them.

“A couple minutes ago, you asked if you could ask me something,” he said. “My turn.”

“I already told you, I don’t know how I was going to finish the sentence,” she lied.

“That’s not my question.”

“Fine. And then you’ll move?” she said.

Josh smiled, the warmth of it making her hot. “Sure. And then I’ll move.”

She gestured impatiently with her hand for him to continue.

“Did you sleep with Trevor?”

Her eyes flew to his. “What?”

His face was unreadable now, his smile gone. “That night when Trevor came into your apartment. Did you sleep with him? Or any night after?”

She laughed disbelievingly. “You don’t get to ask me that. Not with your constant string of women coming in and out.”

Josh inched closer, and Heather shifted backward until her butt hit the counter, her hips now just inches from his thumbs. “Did. You. Sleep. With. Trevor.”

Heather frowned in confusion and shook her head. “No. Why?”