That Kind Of Girl. Kim Mckade

denial.

      “Becca, you don’t still want me to…” He took a step toward her. “You’re not seriously saying you still want me to make love to you, are you?”

      Words stuck in her throat. Rather than speak them, she swallowed them down.

      “Good God, Becca, what are you trying to do to me here? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away last time? It almost killed me.”

      “You managed.”

      “Just. Becca, I’m naked under here. You don’t want to say things like that to me.”

      “I’m not drunk,” she said, quietly but with force. “If I made the offer again, and you said no, you wouldn’t have that as an excuse. Your only excuse would be that you just don’t want me.”

      He took another step, stood in front of her now. She could see the stubble on his chin, the lines around his eyes from worry and lack of sleep. She could see where the shadow of his tan carved down to a V over his chest.

      “Are you offering?” His voice was so gruff, he sounded like someone else, a stranger.

      She lifted her eyes to his, and the moment stretched between them, heavy with the knowledge of what could be.

      “Becca, are you offering?” He emphasized each word.

      She swallowed and opened her mouth to answer.

      The buzzer on the dryer went off.

      She didn’t know he’d been holding his breath until he blew it out in a gust. She lowered her head, looked at his hands, the floor, the rain outside.

      “Bit of a cliché, isn’t that? Except, it’s a buzzer that’s saved you and not a bell.”

      She moved to step around him. He put a hand out to stop her. “Wait—”

      She kept moving. “I’ll get your clothes, Colt.”

      She could feel his eyes on her as she walked across the porch and opened the door. Could feel them, though she didn’t turn back to see.