Wound Up(75)

                “Exclusivity,” she parroted through lips gone numb.

                “Yeah.” He traced a finger down her neck to her collarbone, leaving a blazing trail against her skin. “You know—you plus me equals us.”

                Stunned, she said the only thing she could say. “This is fun, Justin. I’ll give you that. But there is no ‘us.’”

                “There could be.”

                Her heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, and she suddenly regretted coming out tonight. She’d just said she wanted this, wanted someone to offer her refuge—but it couldn’t be him. She refused to stay in Seattle, and he wouldn’t leave.

                So she’d keep him at arm’s length. There might be a few kisses and such, but there wouldn’t be anything more. After the scene with her mother, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into his arms and stay there forever—nothing more than to run as fast as possible from the emotional wasteland she’d been born into.

                Angry tears burned the back of her throat and forced her to swallow them down. Shaking her head, she looked up at him, allowing herself the momentary luxury of being able to touch him without apologies or fear.

                So why let this go? her conscious whispered. When has anyone ever offered you a couple of weeks of unmitigated happy?

                Impulsiveness crashed into her like a twenty-car pileup. It didn’t have to be a choice. She could seize the moment, take what he offered, give what she could in return and then go. All she had to do was take a page from his book and set ground rules for the days they would spend together. “If you want to have a little fun over the next couple of weeks, that’s great. But after that? I’m gone. I have to make a clean break, get out and start living, start fresh. I can’t do that in Seattle.”

                A fine tremor ran through him, crossing every point of contact between them. “A little fun for a couple of weeks, huh?”

                “You make it sound unappealing. That’s not the way I meant it,” she said, hurt warring with anger in both her voice and heart. “That’s not fair.”

                “What’s not ‘fair’ is you taking my offer of something more and twisting it around. I won’t settle, Grace. Not for less than what I deserve.”

                “Deserve, huh? And you deserve more than me. Nice.” She stood and grabbed her messenger bag.

                “Uh-uh. You don’t walk out on me a second time.”

                “This isn’t like before. This time I’m walking out on you for good, Justin.” She started for the door, irritated when he followed her. Spinning, she slapped a hand against his chest. “Cut it out. I’m not into causing scenes.”

                “Stay. Argue with me, Grace. We’re worth it. Please.”

                The plea sliced through her like piano wire through skin—efficient and painful. “Justin—”

                “I’m not above begging. It’s just...” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want less than a real shot, Grace.”

                She arched a brow. “What about the ‘I’m not settling’ diatribe you loosed on me seconds ago?”

                He reached out and took her hand, and a small jolt of awareness made her eyes snap to his. “I would never consider a relationship with you to be ‘settling.’ Give me two weeks to convince you this thing between us is worth trying.”