Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(84)

No. No, no, no!

Tears pricked my eyes and I blinked them away, my hands moving over his stomach, his sides, my legs shifting against his as I chased the earlier spark. But though I felt a tad frantic, I continued regulating my breaths. I didn’t want him to know.

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was Dan, funny and sexy, sweet and stubborn. His body was amazing, the way he moved the fulfillment of all my dirty dreams and desires.

He was perfect.

I was the problem.

He touched me, his palm caressing my backside over my sleep shorts, his fingers trailing around to the front of my stomach, his touch light against the hem of my pajamas. I held my breath, waiting for… something. For my body to, I don’t know, kick in. Work correctly.

Dan’s mouth lowered to my shirt, suckling my breast over the fabric as his finger dipped into me. I concentrated on that, on him, on the light massaging movements, on how much I wanted him, needing so very, very desperately to feel one tenth the amount of hot and bothered I’d felt just moments ago.

But I didn’t.

I clenched my teeth, battling against the tide of disappointment.

Dan paused at my breast, his movements stilling. Lifting his head, his narrowed eyes found mine. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Great.” I tried to sound convincing, giving a little moan.

His hand at my pelvis ceased stroking me. “Are you . . . Kat—”

I lifted my chin and kissed him, pressing my body against his, trying my best to recreate the heat between us as I flattened my palm against the bulge at the front of his boxers. But I couldn’t.

He felt amazing.

And I felt numb.

Why isn’t this working? What is wrong with you? Why don’t you work?

Renewed tears of frustration stung my eyes and I swallowed, telling myself to calm down. Maybe if I relaxed and retraced my steps. Maybe if I—

Dan caught my wrist and moved it away from where I touched him, flipping me onto my back and rising above me.

I saw he was frowning, his eyes searching. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” I tried to kiss him again and he dodged it, tilting his head to one side.

“You’re not into this, I can tell.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Kat.” His voice grew firmer and now he held himself completely away. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know.”

He looked confused, but not irritated. “If you don’t want this, just say so.”

“But I want to.” I reached for him and he evaded me, sitting up on his heels.

“You don’t.”

“I want you,” I cried, hearing the edge of desperation in my voice and cringing again at the new outburst.

He stared at me for a beat, his gaze probing. “Maybe you do, but your body sure as hell doesn’t. Excuse my crassness, but you’re as dry as a fucking desert, and I can tell when your moans are fake and when they’re real.”

I closed my eyes at his brutal honesty, biting my bottom lip to keep my chin from wobbling. I covered my face with my hands and turned away. Melancholy crushed me, breathing felt impossible let alone any attempt at measuring my inhales.

I’d been so certain this time would be different because this time I was with Dan. He was magical, and I could hug and snuggle him without having to force myself to relax, and I loved holding his hand, and we’d kissed before with passion and heat and fire.

And I trusted him. I trusted him completely.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, pressing my lips together so they wouldn’t tremble.

“Kit-Kat, don’t be sorry,” his tenderness struck me like a blow even as he reached for my shoulder with gentle fingers. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re going through a lot, with everything. I’m being an asshole—”

“You’re not.” I shook my head vehemently.

“—and I don’t want you to regret anything that happens between us. We’ll wait.” He kissed my temple, tucking me against him, holding me close. “We’ll wait to fool around until things are better, calmer.”

“It won’t make any difference,” I said bitterly, shaking my head and rolling my eyes at myself.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t.” Ugh. I hated how I sounded, so small, weak. And I hated how I felt, exposed, like a failure.

“You . . . can’t?”

“It’s not the stress. I want to, I want you, but I don’t know how to . . .” I huffed, irritated with myself for how I was basically hiding against his chest. He needed to know, and I should have told him before now, before I’d let him down.