Page 80 of Protecting What's Mine
He wanted to stay in the gym. To pound his mad out on the heavy bag. He hated that even after she’d dug her claws into him, after she’d taken a direct shot, he was still hard for her. He still wanted her. Desperately.
But he was just the affable good guy with no real feelings. Or the manwhore.
The front door closed with an almost slam.
She left. Her lipstick still intact. But his heart wasn’t.
26
Mack limped into her place under a full head of steam. The evening hobble around the block had done little to calm her temper.
“Howdarehe,” she said to her empty living room. She stormed into the kitchen, intending to make a cup of tea. But, as was now her habit, she looked out the window. Linc was still in his gym. He was shirtless now. Even from this distance, she could see the sweat glisten on that perfect body. He threw a vicious uppercut into the bag with a rage she felt echo in her bones. She turned her back on the scene.
“Making assumptions. Calling me a control freak and a coward.” He hadn’t. Exactly. Not in those words. But he’dimpliedit.
“He has no right to judge me,” she muttered to herself and opened the refrigerator.
There was an open bottle of white wine on the door. She filled a glass almost to the rim.
She was agitated. With the boot, she couldn’t run. She couldn’t work out the way she was used to. That was it.
Or maybe it was the fact that he spoke the truth.
The tiny voice in her head was unwelcome. And annoying.
“I decide who I want to sleep with and when,” she said aloud.
She’dwantedto sleep withhim. She’dwantedto straddle him on a weight bench and ride him, chests pressed, sweat mingling, breath coming hard.
But she’d thought of her shadows. Of the scars. And had changed her mind. She closed her eyes. She hadn’t changed her mind. She’d chickened out.
She spared another glance out the window. He was still boxing. Brutal. Violent.
Mad she could respect.
He hadn’t unleashed that on her. He hadn’t risen to the bait of a fight. And in doing so, he’d won.
“What is wrong with me?” She glanced down, realized she didn’t have a fluffy yellow lab waiting to hear her confessional. She was alone. As always.
Mack took the wine into the living room and turned on the TV. If she couldn’t run the mad out of her system maybe she could binge-watch it away.
But all she saw was the hurt in Linc’s eyes. The way he absorbed the blow she’d thrown. He’d been honest and real. She’d been the one to hide behind her defenses and take pot shots.
Why?
Because the damn fire chief was right. She was scared. Shaking in her air cast scared.
He made her want things she had no business wanting. He made her feel things she had no business feeling. Lincoln Reed was nothing but a charming, built, sexy deviation from her plan. She wasn’t wrong for ending things before they got started.
But she’d done it badly. She’d hurt him needlessly. Worse, she’d accused him of pressuring her.
When had she turned into such a damn coward?
“Fuck.”
She turned off the TV, left the wine on the coffee table, and limped her way upstairs.
She took a long hot shower, hoping to wash away some of the self-loathing. Some of the icy fear that collected in her belly. Closing her eyes under the spray, she let herself think about his hands on her, his mouth. The dirty talk mixed with the sweet.
