Ash’s customary wicked smile didn’t light up his face. Instead, he continued to look alarmingly serious. ‘You said you never over-indulge and ran away the second I offered dessert.’
She had. She’d turned tail and fled, overwhelmed by the thoughts in her own damned mind. ‘You said I don’t indulge at all. You were right.’
His gaze locked on her more intently.
‘I want to finish what we started in the bunker.’ Merle’s wish slipped out. ‘In fact, I want more.’
He didn’t move. He didn’t answer. He just stared at her, expressionless.
Merle counted down the achingly slow seconds until doubt exploded in a ball of fire in her stomach. She’d just thrown herself at him and he wasn’t reacting at all how she’d anticipated.
‘Merle...’
The strained whisper was so unlike him. His tone holding nothing short of...regret?
Merle flinched, mortified. Hadn’t she seen the flicker of interest in his eyes just then? Hadn’t he spent all of dinner last night tempting and teasing her into saying yes? Cold horror struck as her doubts mushroomed. Had it all been a ploy to see if he could get her to yes? Had that been his real game? Had it been a prank—with him taking cruel pleasure in seducing her, only to say no?
Had history just repeated itself—only way, way worse? Why had she thought he’d be any different? He was the worst of them all. Taking a trip on an ego ride, pulling a woman he didn’t actually want. Well, he’d won, hadn’t he?
Only now she was humiliated. Now she had to get away. She hated her foolish naivety. She shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have trusted him. Shouldn’t have thought she could ever have something easy and light in her life. Something just for herself. Shouldn’t have thought, even for a second, that someone like him would...
On a gulp of horror she turned to rush away. But he caught her from behind, stopping her headlong retreat, his arms like steel.
‘Merle.’
A harsh, raw growl.
His heat, his thundering heart, pressed against her back briefly. Then he turned her around in his arms so it was her chest pressed to his. She bowed her head and closed her eyes for good measure. Not resisting his hold, not wanting to look in his eyes and see smugness, or rejection. Or, worse, anything like an apology. She would survive his mortifying explanation and then slink to her suite to wallow.
Ash stared down at her, furious with himself as confusion threw him into unaccustomed silence. Having her come to him like this was everything he’d wanted. He should’ve been kissing her already—glorying in the gorgeous silk of her body and celebrating the electricity that arced every time he got within ten feet of her.
Yet the second she’d said it, something felt wrong. Damned if he knew what or why. There was just a knot in his gut that had tightened to the point where he’d been unable to move. Until she’d started to run. Then he’d gone purely on instinct.
Now he couldn’t let her go because her running away would be worse than anything. And, now he had his hands on her, he was unable to resist touching her more. But the tension in her body made him wary. His muscles felt prepped, ready to fight an internal war he didn’t fully understand the reason for.
‘You don’t do this, Merle,’ he said.
Was that it? Was that what was bothering him? Her innocence? He growled beneath his breath as that spectre from his past flickered in his mind. The shy, innocent girl he’d humiliated and the horrific repercussions that had followed for him. ‘I’m not going to be responsible for your broken heart.’
Merle stiffened and drew an audible breath. ‘Of all the arrogant things to say,’ she muttered. But she didn’t pull free of his arms and she easily, easily could have. ‘You’re not going to break my heart. That’s not what I want.’
‘What do you want, then?’ Ash glared at her as that strange fury within rose.
Her request had been so spartan, so dispassionate. She wanted him as if he were some kind of take-away option in a food court. It niggled. Even though it was exactly all he ever did.
‘Don’t panic,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not about to request your hand in marriage. I have that message loud and clear.’
He couldn’t even pull together a grin. ‘You—’
‘Don’t need rose petals or candles, or anything sappy like that.’
Her cynicism punctured his lungs. Her rejection of anything romantic made him feel worse. ‘Nothing sappy?’ He cupped her chin, making her look up so he could see into her eyes. ‘So what, shall we just make a time to meet in your bed? A half-hour appointment or something?’
A wall of red scaled her face—a swirl of embarrassment and hurt. Finally she tried to twist away from him. ‘Forget it—’
‘No,’ he said flatly. He refused to do that. Refused to release her. But the second she stilled he softened his hold, treating her like the wild bird she was—fragile and flighty, a creature who needed freedom to feel safe. He couldn’t resist caressing her gently, smoothing his hands down her back, tracing her beautiful shape. He wanted her in his bed—more than anything he’d wanted in a long time. But he didn’t want it quite like this. Not so clinical and cold. Not when she made him feel anything but cold. Anything but himself. Hell, she made him feel as if he had to do the honourable thing.
And what’s that? he mocked himself. To be protective? Chivalrous? Assume he knew better than she? What was he thinking? More importantly, what was she thinking?
‘Don’t you want more than this?’ he growled. More than a night that meant nothing and would go nowhere?
‘Are you asking that because I’m a virgin?’ Her eyes sparked with that dangerous edge.
The word winded him, even when he’d known.
‘Probably,’ he admitted, helpless to be anything but honest in the intensity of her gaze. ‘You don’t strike me as
