words fell out before he could snatch them back in, and the way her eyes widened told him she was pretty shocked as hell right along with him. Apparently that edginess shuffling under his skin landed them smack dab into the banter that always seemed to follow them around.
She scoffed. "I didn't say that."
"Oh, sure you did," he continued, figuring that if he was going to start down this road, to push a few of his favorite buttons, he might as well see it to the end. It certainly wasn't a game he was accustomed to playing, so he channeled his little brother as best he could. Now this, this Dylan would be proud of. Moving forward one step, he dragged his eyes all the way down her body and then back up, relishing the spots of color that had appeared on her cheeks. "I'm pretty sure you said it right before you ripped my shirt off. Glad to see you didn't tear any buttons off in your haste."
She slicked her tongue against her teeth and it took everything in him to keep a grin off his face. The glare that she sent him pretty much shot straight to his groin. Oh yeah, this was kinda fun. In fact, maybe this could ramp them up to another round somewhere in this kitchen. With the sharp turn, she plopped the mug down, and the sharp crack of ceramic against the counter sounded like a gunshot in the kitchen.
"As much as I enjoy this little recap, I really should get back home." Her face was closed off, and he felt a small stirring of panic. They'd just been having fun, right? Only Rachel's face didn't look like she was having fun. At all.
"Rachel," he started, and she held a hand up to stop him.
"No, this was my fault. Obviously I need to learn to keep a lid on my pregnancy hormones. Next time I'll handle matters myself."
Now it was his turn to set down his mug, only he did it slowly and carefully. Her fault. Handle matters herself. Pregnancy hormones. Those three sentences broke down into separate words and then into individual letters that didn't make any sense as they swept through his head. First he was confused. Then, as he stared at her, and the blank look that she was trying to keep pasted on her face, he just got pissed.
"That's how you're going to play this," he said, keeping his tone carefully even. "I helped you, what? Scratch an itch?"
She pursed her lips, working her jaw back and forth. Her mouth opened, and then she closed it again. And that was new, Rachel thinking twice about what she was going to say.
"I don't believe you," he said firmly in her silence, his eyes not wavering from her for even a second.
"This is exactly why I was afraid to move in," she said, quite obviously avoiding his statement. "This can't keep happening, Tate."
He laughed. He couldn't help it. This woman had balls made of bricks to be able to look him in the eye and say that after last night.
"This isn't funny," she snapped.
"I couldn't agree more. I had absolutely no intention to sleep with you last night, had no problem respecting the boundaries you put in place. You called me back. You kissed me. And I do not believe you that you just couldn't control some pregnant woman hormonal overload. It meant more than that, it meant more than that to me, and you know it." Tate punctuated it by pointing a finger at her, and he practically shook with everything rushing through him.
He was angry, sure, but that battled fiercely with disappointment. It was a toss-up which one would come out on top. There was more to this, to last night, and to this morning, he knew it. And all he wanted to do was push and push until she admitted what it was. But the way she paled a bit as he spoke, he knew he'd rein in the anger.
"You're right," she said, eyes lowering to the floor briefly before coming back up to meet his. "That was all on me."
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, shaking his head. Self-preservation radiated off of her, covering her like full body armor. Pushing buttons was definitely not the right approach, not with as quickly as she'd shut down. Rachel obviously had control of whatever switch in her head allowed her to do that. And with that