“Shame,” he says, almost to himself. “This was the original casement.”
“Maybe you should think about that next time before you break it,” I say under my breath. But he hears me.
“Technically, Luke went through the window first,” he says.
“And who threw him through it?”
“Minor detail.” He reaches out and breaks off one of the larger splinters. “Anyway, I tried to walk away. The fight was over. He shouldn’t have charged me.”
“And why, exactly, were you fighting in the first place?”
He glances back at me. He still looks amused, but there’s something else in his eyes, too. Something more serious.
“Gracie failed to tell me she was seeing someone,” he says simply. “So I made sure he knew she was sleeping with people behind his back.”
“You say that like you were doing him a favor.”
“I was. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet. Gracie’s trash.”
Annoyance flares in my chest. “That sure didn’t stop you from sleeping with her.”
One corner of his mouth drifts up.
“Are you jealous?” he says. “Do I have to remind you that you grabbed me without any sort of warning? And you ran off again without even telling me your name? How was I supposed to know who you were? How do you even know I wasn’t seeing Gracie before you tried to undo my belt?”
Oh, geez. I didn’t even realize how that sounded. But he’s not getting off the hook.
“You can’t just call a woman ‘trash’ because she has sex with a lot of people,” I say. “Especially if you’re one of those people. It’s a little hypocritical.”
“I don’t give a damn how many people she sleeps with as long as she’s honest about it,” he says, all humor gone. “And this has nothing to do with her being a woman. I don’t care if you’re a man or a woman or whatever else. If you cheat, you’re trash. Period.”
The anger in his voice surprises me. His blue eyes have darkened, and he turns away from me and breaks more of the splintered wood off of the window.
“So you’re not taking any responsibility for this yourself?” I say.
He glances over at me. “How is this my fault?”
“Uh, last time I checked, it takes two people to cheat.”
“As I said before, she didn’t tell me about Luke until afterward. And as soon as I found out, I did the right thing.” He turns back to the window. “I’m not going to feel bad for her. Gracie’s a big girl. She can make her own decisions. But that doesn’t mean she won’t have to face any consequences for the bad ones.”
Oh, how easily he wipes his hands of any responsibility. I grab another stack of books and drop it on the shelf.
“I don’t see how beating up Luke is the ‘right thing’.”
“That,” he replies, “is his own fault. I told him to let it go. He was the one who started throwing punches. I was just defending myself.”
You were enjoying it, I want to say. It was all a game to you. Geez, he was a lot more attractive before he opened his mouth. I want to go back to that place where he was just that sexy, nameless handyman I threw myself at.
Somehow, miraculously, I’ve finished with the books. I climb to my feet and turn toward the overturned table of T-shirts. My stomach instantly sinks. One thing I’ll say about arguing with cocky, auburn-haired jerks: it keeps your mind off of the things that are really bothering you.
I’ve managed to turn the table upright before he speaks again.
“Look, I’m not claiming to be a saint,” he says. “But I have no patience for cheaters. I don’t care what people say—cheating never ‘just happens.’ If your eye’s wandering, then there’s something wrong with your relationship. Either work things out with your partner or have the balls to break things off before jumping into bed with someone else. It’s pretty simple.”
“So you’ve never cheated on anyone?”
“No.” He pauses. “Not even when attractive women throw themselves at me.”
My cheeks go hot. I thought we were past that. But I can’t stop my tongue. “So if Gracie hadn’t been in the picture, you would’ve gone through with it?”
He’s looking at me again, but I can’t read his expression. “Gone through with what, exactly? How far would you have gone if I hadn’t stopped you?”
I don’t even want to know. A blow job? Full-out sex? I was in a bad place. Desperate for a distraction. For something, anything, to make me feel human again.
When I glance up, I realize he’s no longer at the window. Instead, he’s moving slowly toward me. It takes me a moment to read the intention in his eyes, and by the time I do, it’s too late. He’s standing in front of me, and the table’s at my back. I’m trapped.
He leans toward me, dropping his hands to the table on either side of my hips. I have to lean back if I don’t want his face to collide with mine.
Which I don’t, I tell myself. I definitely don’t.
His eyes are gleaming. With humor, but with something else, too—something devilish. Something wicked. He’s so close that can smell that hint of sweat I noticed on him the other day. I could probably count the loose threads along the collar of his T-shirt. There are dozens of tiny cuts on his neck, marks from the broken glass. How many more lacerations does he have beneath his shirt? On the parts of his body I can’t see?
I tear my eyes away from his neck, trying to fight back any images of his naked chest. But when I meet his eyes again, the expression I find there is much more dangerous.
“How far would you have taken things?” he asks, his voice low. “How far were you willing to go with a stranger?”
One of his hands lifts off the table, and his fingers brush against my arm just above the wrist. I suppress a shiver.
“You were willing to kiss me,” he says, bringing his face down toward mine. He stops just shy of my mouth, but I can feel his breath on my lips. “You were willing to slip your tongue into my mouth.”
I can’t move. He’s almost a foot taller than me, and it hurts my neck to keep looking up at his face, but every muscle in my body is frozen. Even my lungs don’t seem to be working right.
His fingers drift up my arm, skimming across the elbow.
“You were willing to take off my clothes,” he says. “Do you still want to take them off? Or would you rather I took off yours?” Every word is a warm wash of breath across my face.