with my hair bunched up in the towel and sitting on my head like a pineapple.
His hair is also wet, and he’s changed into a new set of clothes. He stays where he is, hovering just outside my door, not daring to step inside. “Don’t leave. You don’t have to quit.”
I’m touched that this is what he’s concerned about. But I also have to get real. “I can’t stay here. I can’t work for you anymore.”
“You need this job,” he insists.
He’s right. “I haven’t quit right now,” I tell him. “I said I’d leave when I found something else.”
“But you don’t have to find anything else.”
His answer knocks the wind right out of my lungs. What does he expect me to do when he leaves Chicago? “I will at some point.”
“Just not now.”
His voice is softer, like it was on that lightning filled night. It speaks to my core. My heart softening, the space between my legs getting ready for more of the nice Ward. I’ve already given in.
I need to face up to him. “You’re rude, and ill-tempered, and a boor.”
He folds his arms. “I’m no good with people, but you already knew that.”
“You’re a difficult man to be around.”
“I’m a writer, not a social animal.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, my sassiness in full swing. The weight of the towel on my head reminds me that I look silly. I whip it off before running my hand through my hair, trying to tidy it.
“Is it that obvious?”
He steals a glance at my towel, the one I hold against me as some sort of defense shield. Not one to miss an opportunity, I take a quick look at his biceps. I love a man with strong arms, and muscles, and those lovely workout veins. Ward is slowly getting those arms.
I look up, but it’s too late. He’s caught me ogling him. “That’s not it, though, is it?”
“What?” I pull my towel even more tightly around me.
“That’s not why you’re pissed off with me. Why you weren’t in the mood to talk to me just now.”
I almost choke with exasperation. “You said we should keep away. I was keeping away.”
His eyes twinkle. “I’ve been unkind, and I’m sorry. After that night in the study, I should have thanked you, but I didn’t. I pushed you away.”
I take a tiny step back, because his words are like an unexpected gust of wind.
“Do you accept it? My apology?” he asks.
“I only wanted to help you that night.”
“You did help me.”
“I never intended for that to happen.”
“Lapdancing isn’t a skill set on your resume,” he acknowledges. If this is his idea of a joke, it’s a bad one. As if I don’t already feel bad about my reckless behavior.
“Sensual pen massage isn’t one on yours,” I throw back.
“I can give you another one, if you want.”
“What?” My wavering voice manages to utter one word.
“Did you like it, Mari? Me touching you like that?”
My mouth dries up, my throat, too. My heartbeat begins to thump, only, it’s in the space between my legs, and not where it should be. If this is his idea of a joke … the bastard. He’s giving me hope, and just like that, he can take it away.
“You’re cruel,” I say. Because he’s playing with me. He’s so, so cruel. He’s feeling horny, so he’s come to my bedroom. He wants something. And I want to cry. He wants to use me, and …
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Mari. I can’t finish my book because I’m stuck on the story. I can’t get the image of you out of my head.”
I melt. Literally. My insides hollow out and turn into a great big ball of mush. Ward Maddox can’t stop thinking about me. He’s a man of two sides. A split personality. A tortured soul.
But you’re hurting too, a voice whispers in my ear. Don’t be fooled by his words.
And now that he has confessed his feelings for me, my nerve endings are jangling wildly. Are they his true feelings for me, or just empty words? I can’t tell, because I can’t think. Blood rushes to every orifice in my body and I suddenly feel lightheaded.
He’s a Jekyll and Hyde character, I remind myself. A beguiling combination of brooding and tortured.
I take another step back, but he doesn’t move. He’s not a threat, but I move away because I’m in danger of throwing my arms around him especially now that I know he won’t stop me.
“Did you stay with