Page 45 of All I Need (Hearts of the South)
A grimace flitted across his face. “I think I’ll pass.”
“How about some Johnnie Walker Swing?”
“Hell, yes.”
In the kitchen, she poured a couple of fingers and added a splash of water to open up the flavor. He stood in the short hallway, and when she turned, she caught his gaze darting over the details of her living room, not that there was much to see—rental furniture, no photos, no knickknacks because she’d didn’t plan to be here long.
Shit, he was in her apartment. She stilled, tumbler in hand, gaze on his face. She’d avoided this, scrupulously keeping their interactions either at his place or out and about. Sure, she’d taken him to Amy and Rob’s and planned to take him to her parents’ home, but that wasdifferent.
He was in her space, such as it was. Lost in concern for him, she’d blown right past the self-imposed boundary without realizing it. She sucked in a breath. Earlier she’d been hurt because he’d kept a boundary between her and his family, and now she was freaking out over a boundary crossed.
Damn, she hated being a hypocrite.
“Here.” She crossed to place the glass tumbler in his hand and kept her fingers wrapped around his a moment. His gaze met hers, his eyes shuttered and unhappy. His whole body radiated tension.
She couldn’t do anything about the source of that stress, but she could relieve some of the effects.
“Come on.” She took his arm and drew him toward her bedroom, which like his, lay right across the hall from the kitchen.
He lifted the glass and knocked back a swallow. “I need to be next door.”
“You need to calm down first or you’ll be useless to anyone.” She used the tone she trotted out with recalcitrant patients. The taut line of his jaw didn’t relax.
“I am calm.” He lifted the tumbler again. “Not calm would be tearing off to Tallahassee and killing Frank for putting his hands on Landra, except my mama would be upset if I went to prison.”
“Yeah? I’d be upset too.” She took the glass from his hand and set it on the nightstand. She reached for his polo hem and tugged the garment over his head. This close, every muscle in his body seemed to sing with tension, even through his thin undershirt. She’d bet the leg was killing him if he was keeping those tendons this tight. She dropped her hands to his belt.
He stayed her with one hand. “This isn’t a good idea.”
She stilled, eyes on his troubled face. “Do you trust me?”
If anything, his body went tighter. He opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “No.”
The breath whooshed from her lungs, and she barely escaped making a kicked-kitten sound with it. That curt monosyllable hurt in all its raw honesty.
She could retreat into the hurt, let him go tonight, or she could accept the damage she’d done, try to be what he needed in this moment.
She swallowed hard. “So you can take care of me, give me what I need, but I can’t do the same for you? Is that where we are?”
His brows dipped in a pained frown. “You can’t give me what I need right now.”
The bald statement hurt like crazy. On a shaky laugh, she let him go. “Okay.”
“Savannah, I can’t do this tonight.” His voice cracked with pressure. “I just can’t.”
Unable to get words past the tightness in her throat if her life depended on it, she nodded. Something must have shown in her face because he groaned, his body dipping at the knees.
“Savannah, don’t look at me like—” His phone blipped, and he snatched it from his pocket. His shoulders fell. “Clark’s here, outside.”
The lump in her throat wouldn’t give. He heaved a rough sigh. “I’m gonna go talk to him. We’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow and maybe we can sort this out then.”
He grabbed his polo and walked down the hall. Moments later, the door closed behind him, leaving her alone with her isolation.
* * * * *
“So let me get this straight.” Clark sat back on his heels, sponge in his gloved hand. “You left a half-finished glass of Johnnie Walker and a willing woman next door, and you’re in here scrubbing the bathroom with me.”
“Yeah.”
