“Do you want me?”
“I haven’t tried to hide that I do.”
“Exactly what do you want from me?”
I glance in her direction. Even in the flash of oncoming headlights, I see the intensity of her expression. She’s got some anger to get out and she’s looking for a fight.
Anger I can deal with. It’s the other things she makes me feel that concern me.
“I think you know.”
“Maybe, but tell me anyway.”
There’s tension in everything from her voice to the stiff set of her shoulders. Angry tension. And sexual tension. “What do I want from you?” I ask softly, glancing over her face, her shining eyes and pouty lips. “I want your moans in my mouth. I want your fingernails on my skin. I want your naked body against mine.”
Her lips part and I see the tip of her tongue wet them. For a few seconds the sexual wins out over the angry. It breaks through the haze like a plea and it pulls me in so much that I don’t want to look away. God, just to think of the moment when she gives in, when she lets go and throws herself into feeling, like she wants so desperately to do.
But then, as though she makes a conscious determination to hold on to the anger, she pulls away from me and crosses her arms over her chest. “How very gallant! Just what every girl wants to hear.”
I turn my attention back to the road. “It should be because it’s honest.”
“Still, you could’ve said something else.”
“Would you rather I lie? Would you rather me say that you make me feel things I don’t want to feel? Would you rather I have said that I can picture myself spending nights inside you and mornings watching you sleep? Would you rather that I mislead you to get what we both want, just so you can feel better about wanting it?”
As I watch her, I’m pissed by how true those words felt. The worst thing I could do is fall for this woman.
Anger battles with hurt. Or maybe disappointment. It’s there on her face. I just can’t be sure which. Her mouth works itself open and closed a few times before she replies with a soft, “No.”
“Then why don’t we just stick with what we know? I want you. You want me. We have some time to burn. Why not spend it as pleasantly as possible?”
“Maybe I’m not like that. Maybe I’m not that kind of a girl.”
“Maybe you’re not. But maybe you could be. Just for a little while.”
“You could really be happy with that?”
“Yes. Very. And so could you if you’d give it a chance.” To this, she says nothing, just stares at my profile so hard I can feel her eyes like a touch. “What if I promise not to tell that you’re ‘that kind of girl’?”
“Is that what you’d promise me?”
“I could. Why? What kind of promise do you need?”
“A promise not to hurt me, but I bet you’d never give me that one,” she says quietly, her eyes cast down at hands that now move restlessly in her lap.
More guilt.
Guilt. Damn it.
But why? Why now? Why her?
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters.” When I say nothing else, she prompts, “So, which is it? Can’t or won’t?”
I look over at her one more time and I tell her the truth. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
I don’t have to tell her to stop asking me questions this time. She falls quiet all on her own.
NINETEEN
Muse
Jasper steers the car competently, carefully, quietly. I can’t really be mad at him for being honest. It’s not his fault that I didn’t like his answers. I guess no man has ever been quite so honest with me, not even my own father. I guess I should be thankful that someone will tell me the truth. Now if I could just get Jasper to tell me the truth about other things.
By this point, however, I know him well enough to know that asking him outright won’t do me any good. He’s shown me that time and time again. But I do wonder, though, if he’ll be more forthcoming and trusting when we start a physical relationship.
I know it’s coming. Trying to resist him would be as silly and futile as trying to resist the rising of the sun or the rotation of the earth. And, truthfully, I don’t really want to resist. Not really. I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone. He makes me feel on a level that I’ve never felt before. Maybe it’s his secrecy. Or maybe it’s the air of danger that surrounds him. Or maybe it’s this sense that I’ve not met the real Jasper yet. I’ve been getting this feeling that he’s wounded so deeply that he doesn’t let people in anymore. If he ever did.