He jerked back, spinning at the same time and moving in, taking her back down on the bed.
He caught his weight on his elbows and one knee, keeping the impact of his body from crushing her. “There,” he murmured, lowering his head and nuzzling the curve of her neck. “This is right about where I’ve wanted to be for maybe a hundred years. And that’s not even an exaggeration.”
“Get off me, you stupid git,” she snarled.
“Stupid git?” he echoed, lifting his head and staring down at her, amused. “How is it you can insult me and still sound so proper doing it?”
Narrowing her eyes, she said, “How proper does this sound? Get the fuck off of me, you sodding wanker.”
“Hmmm. Sounds sexy as hell.” He dipped his head to hers. Two seconds later, he jerked his head. “Ouch! Damn it, you mean little brat.”
Licking his throbbing lip, he eyed her closely. She lay there, still. “Try to kiss me again, and I’ll do more than bite you. I’m done with you, do you hear me, Crawford? Done.”
He felt something drive into his heart . . . claws, maybe. Too jagged and rough to be a blade, and a knife couldn’t shred him to pieces like this. “No.” Shaking his head, he leaned in, pressed his forehead to hers. “It’s not done. It can’t be . . . don’t you see? We never even started. How can we be done if we never even had a chance to start?”
Her body lay below his, a long, rigid line. “It would never work. You don’t bother to look at anything but what you see with your eyes, even though you damn well have the ability. If you can’t do that . . .” Something dark and tormented danced through her eyes. “I’ve got enough to deal with, just on my own. I don’t need your crap, too.”
“I’m sorry.” He laid his hand on her neck, fingers spread wide so he could stroke his thumb along her lip, feel the graceful curve of her neck under his hand, the silk of her hair along his fingers. “It’s not an excuse, but you need to understand . . .” He trailed off, tried to figure out the best way to explain the truly fucked-up mess that was his head. “The gifts that are in my head aren’t . . . mine. And I’m little screwed up over them at the moment. Actually, I’ve been screwed up over that for a while now and it’s . . . I can’t think clearly. Nothing’s clear. Except how I feel about you. And I know it can’t be over, Dru.” Dipping his head, he took a chance, a quick kiss, desperate as hell, pressed to her mouth. “It can’t be over. It never started.”
She twisted away from him, staring at the headboard. Very intently, it seemed. Probably so she wouldn’t have to look at him. A soft shudder racked her and he groaned, feeling the rippling of her body under his. Killing him, damn it. Just killing him . . .
“Let me up,” she whispered. And something in her tone got to him.
Rolling away, he lay next to her on the bed, eyes closed, hunger and heartache burning in him until he couldn’t think.
“What . . . what exactly do you mean the gifts in your head aren’t yours?” she asked.
He hesitated for a minute. “Are you going to talk to me? Tell me what’s going on and why you’re so determined to walk away?”
“What, it can’t be because you acted like an ass?” she pointed out.
He lifted his head, craned it around to look at her. But she wasn’t looking at him.
Unwilling to let her block him out so easy, he rolled onto his side, hovering over her. “I felt what you were feeling, Dru. Shock. Fear. And I heard you. You kept thinking, He’s one of them. At first, I thought you were just afraid, but looking back, that’s not what it was. You were pissed. You didn’t think anything better of me than I was thinking, so don’t go pulling this high-and-mighty routine. Somehow I don’t think hypocrisy is your style. We both fucked up. We can deal with it and move on or make ourselves miserable. Which one are we going to do?”
She turned her head, glaring at him.
“I can’t read minds,” she snapped. “If I could . . .”
“It’s common courtesy not to go barging in without permission.” Lifting his hand, he laid