He looked over his shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“It was a super busy day and I’m kind of tired tonight. I’m going to head up to bed.”
His lips curved. “My bed, I hope.”
She paused. “Actually, I have a few hours of writing to do on the interview. I could use some quiet time, so I can get through this as quickly as possible. I think I’m going to close myself up in the guest room tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”
He gave her a curious look. “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” In her best this-is-all-just-casual-between-us voice, she said, “See you tomorrow, Trevor.”
She hurried upstairs, closed the door, and leaned against it, trying to calm her rapid pulse.
Stupid. She was so stupid.
She had fallen in love with him.
Again.
And it was totally, utterly one-sided.
Again.
When will you ever get smart, Haven?
He will never love you.
TREVOR HAD NO IDEA WHY HE’D SAID WHAT HE’D SAID to Haven.
Correction. He knew exactly why he’d pushed her away.
She’d said she cared.
He couldn’t afford to let a woman—to let Haven—get close enough to care about him.
Because she wanted to know more about him, which meant exploring his past. And that meant exposing secrets—secrets he wasn’t ready to trust anyone with.
Or was he ready?
No. He couldn’t. Just the thought of it . . . what she might think if he told her . . .
She wouldn’t understand. She’d think less of him. Or even worse, she’d try to help, and no one could help him, because no one could know.
He took a long swallow of his beer and rolled the bottle around in his hands.
The problem was, she wasn’t the only one who cared. He’d gotten used to having her in his life. In his house. He missed her when she wasn’t around. He loved having her body next to his at night. He enjoyed her laugh, her sense of humor, her counsel. He’d grown closer to Haven than any other woman in his life before.
Was that love? He didn’t know.
Maybe it was, because when he thought about her, everything inside him tightened with lust, with emotion, with a sense that if he didn’t have her next to him all the time, something was missing.
But still, he kept a part of himself removed from her.
He couldn’t tell her about that part. It would change her feelings for him.
And that meant there could be no relationship, which was why he’d spent all these years alone.
With no answers to his dilemma in sight, he stared out into the darkness.
THIRTY
HAVEN DIDN’T QUITE KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF SOME of the other players offering themselves up for interviews about Trevor. But as she sat there and watched the team practice, she noticed Trevor would talk to one of the players, who would nod, and then later on make his way over to her.
She rolled her eyes, feeling manipulated and irritated. Who was in charge of this interview, anyway? So whenever one of the guys came over and offered himself up, she politely turned him down, telling him she’d look him up later if she had any questions about Trevor.
Damn the man for always wanting to control things. Maybe she’d put that in her bio piece about him.
God forbid he should hand over the reins of control to a woman, letting her be in charge.
Though he hadn’t minded whenever she’d wanted to climb on top of him during sex. She’d been in charge then, hadn’t she?
As she saw him dash down the field, the ball sailing in the air and landing in Trevor’s arms, goose bumps pricked her skin. She vividly recalled herself naked, riding Trevor’s lean hips while he dug his fingers into her flesh, urging her to take them both right to the edge, then over. Her nipples tightened, her pussy quivering with the need to—
Dammit. Shaking herself out of her self-induced sex dream, she forced her attention on Trevor’s confident jaunt back to the huddle. She caught him taking a quick glance up at her sitting on the sidelines. He gave her a knowing smile, almost as if he’d been aware of what she’d been thinking.
No way. It wasn’t like her body was giving off sexual pheromones or she was holding up an I Need to Get Laid sign or anything. He had just smiled at her. That was all it had been. Like a Hi, how’s it going? kind of thing.
Right?
It had just been one night apart. And maybe she hadn’t slept much and she’d stared out at the dark water outside her window instead of sleeping, lost in her own thoughts. She could have been cuddled up next to Trevor’s warm body, or mixed in a tangle of arms and legs, her body moving under—or over—his, wildly crying out in orgasm, instead of sleeping in a cold bed all by herself.
She might as well get used to that, because as soon as the interview was over, that was what she’d be doing every night.