Wanted(21)

And when I did, it wasn’t Kevin’s face that I saw—it was Evan’s.

I gasped, my eyes flying open for real this time, and I saw Kevin peering at me, concern cutting across those perfect features.

“Angie? Hey, are you okay?”

I nodded. “Tired. Just tired.”

“All the more reason to go inside.”

Again, I nodded. I didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think. Guilt and grief were screwing with my head, and I wasn’t at all sure what to do about it.

We took the elevator from the parking level to his eighth floor studio, and as we stepped through the door, I realized I was holding my breath—but whether that was because I was craving or dreading his touch, I really didn’t know.

It didn’t matter though, because all he did was turn around and shut the door. “How does a cup of hot tea sound?” he asked, after he’d locked both dead bolts and put on the chain.

It sounded horrible, but I nodded anyway. Tea sounded soothing. It sounded calm. But I didn’t want calm. I wanted hands on my body. I wanted electricity. I wanted to be consumed in a lightning storm, destroyed by passion. I wanted to get lost in pleasure so intense it burned away everything until I was a blank slate, the horror of the last few days all but forgotten.

But this—I didn’t want this.

More, I didn’t want Kevin.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be silly. It’s no trouble.” He started to turn toward the tiny kitchen, but must have seen something in my eyes, because he stopped. “Angie?”

Would everything have changed if he’d kissed me right then? If I’d seen fire brimming in his eyes, would I have stayed? Would I have lost myself in his touch, gotten high on the drug of sex? Would I have let him take me where I wanted to go—and would I have stayed there with him?

I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t doubt that Kevin was a good man, but he wasn’t the man I wanted, and I deserved more than the runner-up. So, for that matter, did Kevin.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight. I shouldn’t have—” I shook my head, as if shaking off the thread of my words. “I am a wreck tonight. But I really just want to be alone.”

“No.” My words spurred him to action, and he reached out, his hand closing around my wrist. “You’re distraught, I get that. Stay. I’ll take care of you.”

I shivered, because that’s what I wanted. For someone to take care of me so that I really could slip away and lose myself in that ultimate thrill of surrender. But not with tea and cookies and a warm bubble bath. That was never going to take my edge off.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I promised, already moving away, trying to avoid the walls that were squeezing in around me. “Right now, I have to go.”

I was tugging open the front door locks when he gripped my elbow. “I’m not letting you go back there. Not tonight. Not when you’re like this. Grief messes with people, honey. I see it all the time.”

“I’m just going to crash,” I lied. “I want to sleep in my own bed. And this isn’t your decision,” I added when he looked ready to argue. “I know you want to help, but I need the space.”

He just stood there, his fingers digging into my bare arm, exposed in the sleeveless black sheath I still wore.

“Kevin …” I heard the apology in my voice, along with the plea.

“Dammit—fine.” He released me and held up his hands, fingers spread, and in that moment I imagined him talking to a suspect, patronizing them. Telling them to just be calm and everything would be okay.

Unfair, maybe, but the direction of my thoughts only made me more determined to get out of there.

“Now,” I said. “I’m going now.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No.” I drew in a breath, tried to calm the panic that seemed to want to spring out of me. Couldn’t he see that I needed to run—needed to go. “I just—I want to be alone. Please.”

He should have yelled at me and called me a liar and told me to get the hell out. Instead, his eyes softened and he nodded. “Fine. But I’m putting you in the cab. Tomorrow,” he said as he gently stroked my cheek. “Tomorrow, we talk.”

It took a solid seven minutes for the cab to arrive. I know because I looked at my watch seven times during the period. I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I glanced around the darkened neighborhood. The lights were out at Yolk, one of my favorite breakfast places, and just looking that direction made my stomach growl. I’d eaten nothing since that morning, I realized, and had to acknowledge that hunger might be contributing to my moodiness.