Good with His Hands(11)

She lifted her head, planning to kiss him, but their gazes locked, as  intimately joined as their bodies. Looking into his face, she knew this  was the closest she'd ever felt to another person. And even though the  realization was a little scary, she was almost certain he felt the same  way.

* * *

SEAN WOKE LANGUOROUSLY from a dead sleep. Before he was awake enough to  form thoughts, he was only aware of a bone-deep contentment and the  lush female body curled against him, her skin warm and smooth. Dani.

He opened his eyes to check the time, and the sunshine flooding her  room was like an accusation. Their night together had long since passed.  In the dark, he'd almost convinced himself he could give her enough  pleasure to atone for his lie of omission. Now he had to face her in the  light of day-and face up to what he'd done.

"Mornin'." Her drowsy voice was a purr of greeting as she affectionately wriggled against him.

He should be worn out from the previous night, but his body, seemingly oblivious to his moral plight, was already responding.

Irritated with his lack of self-discipline, he jerked away from her. "Good morning."

His brusque words were met with an odd stillness. He could almost see her unspoken questions forming in the air.

"Sorry. I'm a bear in the morning." He climbed out of the bed to get  some distance between them. That last time they'd made love, something  had changed. Shifted. He couldn't touch her now, not until she knew the  truth. "You have a coffeemaker?"

She nodded, eyeing him warily but no longer frowning. "I'm more of a  tea drinker myself, but I keep coffee in the cabinet for company.  There's a sugar bowl on the counter, and about a fifty-fifty chance the  milk in the fridge hasn't expired."

"I'm going to get a pot started. Be back in a couple of minutes." And,  hopefully, between now and then, he'd figure out a way to explain his  identity that wouldn't make her hate him forever.





      6

DANI HAD HEARD of awkward mornings after, but this was more like a  complete personality transplant. What was wrong with him? He said he was  cranky in the mornings, which maybe explained his tone, but why  wouldn't he meet her eyes? What had happened to the man who'd laughed  with her last night and confided in her? The one who'd made love to her  until she was limp with satisfaction? In her experience, it was a major  warning sign when a guy started acting jumpy, his behavior erratic.                       
       
           



       

Gray is not your low-life ex. Don't overreact.

With weeks of looking back on her engagement to give her perspective,  she'd realized that Tate had a nasty, yet subtle, habit of belittling  her. Literally, in the case of cajoling her not to wear high heels. He  was the kind of man who sulked when he lost and liked people around him  to be a tiny bit weaker so that he appeared stronger in comparison. Gray  was far more secure than that. He'd seemed genuinely delighted at  having serious competition when they played pool, and he hadn't cringed  once at her "unladylike" language.

As for being with a strong woman? If she told Gray she wanted to  handcuff him to her headboard and have her way with him, she suspected  he'd be all for it. At least, the lover who'd ravished her last night  would have been. She was less sure about the man who'd recoiled from her  this morning.

Listening to his footsteps as he padded back to the room, it occurred  to her that she was completely naked. Granted, he'd already seen  everything there was to see, but she was suddenly feeling a lot more  inhibited. Vulnerable. Who knew where her discarded robe had ended up?  She quickly wound the sheet around her, six-hundred-thread-count  makeshift armor.

Far from looking more alert or bolstered by the prospect of imminent  coffee, when Gray returned, he was even more grim faced. He'd pulled on  his jeans, and she found herself wishing he'd put on his shirt, too.  This didn't seem like a good time to get distracted by his sculpted  chest.

She wasn't one to beat around the bush, and the experience with Tate  had taught her to trust her instincts even when she didn't like what  they were telling her. "What's the problem?"

Staring at the floor, he inhaled deeply, then blew out his breath. "I  need to tell you something, but it's tough to explain." He finally met  her eyes, but the uneasiness in his gaze wasn't comforting. The dark  stubble shadowing his jaw-albeit sexy in a scruffy way-added to the  sense that he'd somehow transformed into a stranger, far removed from  the polished architect she was used to seeing. "What I'm about to say  doesn't have to change anything, Dani."

He's lying. "You ever notice how prefacing bad news with 'don't panic'  causes panic?" She was impressed she sounded so calm, no tremor to  betray the dread coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach. "Or how  people who start, 'No offense...' are about to say something offensive?"  Whatever he was about to say, she was willing to bet it was a game  changer.

"When I saw you yesterday," he said, "I felt an instant flare of attraction. You felt it, too."

She cocked her head to the side, puzzled by the defensive undercurrent  in his tone. Why did it sound as if he were trying to justify what had  happened between them? They were consenting adults, and there was no  reason she could think of for him to feel guilty about it. Unless...  "That ex you mentioned? Is she maybe not as ex as you suggested?" If  he'd gone home with Dani without first ending a bad relationship, she  didn't know if she could forgive him, not when she knew what it was like  to be cheated on firsthand.

"What? No! This doesn't have anything to do with Tara. This is  about...my brother. We used to be really close, but we're very different  people. I make spontaneous-sometimes regrettable-decisions, and he  plans out every choice he makes. He doesn't do impulsive things like  follow a beautiful stranger in need of a good time to a bar."

Why was he babbling about his brother? Perhaps she'd been too quick to  assure Meg she hadn't gone home with a psycho. Wild-eyed and off on a  tangent, he seemed less mentally stable.

He sat on the edge of the bed, close but not touching her. "My brother is an architect. In your building."

"You're both architects?" Wait. Why call it her building when he worked there, too?

"No, just him. His name is Bryce Grayson. He works for Bertram Design Associates."

"His name is Bryce?" She scrambled backward until she bumped the  headboard, trying to decide if she was dealing with some bizarre  multiple personality thing. Or if he was secretly employed by one of  those reality shows that messed with people's minds. "You're Bryce  Grayson."

He shook his head. "I'm his twin brother. Sean."

Holy hell, she'd seduced a total stranger. A liar, at that. She shot  out of the bed, mind reeling. Bryce had an evil twin? Impossible. That  was the kind of thing that happened in freaking soap operas, not real  life.                       
       
           



       

Gray-Sean?-stood, too, his eyes beseeching. "When you first asked me to  join you for that drink, to help you let off some steam, I had no idea  you thought I was him."

"And as soon as you realized?"

He glanced away, guilt and misery marring his breathtaking profile. For  an inane moment, she wanted to reach for him, comfort him.

But then anger rose, a dark tide. "Did you think I was so desperate to  get laid that I wouldn't care who I screwed?" she bit out. "Or were you  afraid I wasn't desperate enough, that I'd walk away if I knew you  weren't the man I wanted?"

His eyes flashed, her words riling him past contrition. "I am the man  you wanted. You had hours to be sure of that before you brought me back  here. And you can't tell me you know Bryce any better than that. Before  yesterday, the two of you had never even exchanged names."

The truth in his words didn't come close to extinguishing her rage. If  anything, it infuriated her more. "Don't try to defend what you did! I  just got out of a very long relationship with a liar. I am not about to  get involved with another one. Get out of my apartment."

"Danica-"

"Out," she said coldly. She was working so hard to control her temper,  afraid that if she let it loose, she'd find herself in the midst of an  honest to God tantrum, throwing her belongings and risking her security  deposit.

He stared her down. For a second, she thought he might continue pleading his case.

His shoulders sagged in defeat. He gave her one last look and returned  to the living room, where his shoes and shirt were. Apparently, he  didn't even bother to put them on, merely scooped them up, because bare  seconds later her front door opened, then clicked shut with  gut-wrenching finality.