“Of course I’m not going to throw you in the river.”
“Then what? Remind me of how empty I am?” she said, and instantly caught a sob in her throat that surprised the hell out of her—surprised her so much that she lost track of what she was saying and put a hand to her throat, swallowing that lousy sob down as she stumbled back a step. It took a moment before she could look at him again, and when she did, she could see, even across the distance between them, the remorseful sorrow in his gray eyes, and quickly closed her eyes before she let his remorse seep in, desperately reminding herself that she didn’t want his stinking apology. She was done with him! She was done.
“That,” he said hoarsely, “was a horrible, inexcusable thing for me to have said. And even more importantly, it was a lie. I have no excuse, other than to say I was really angry that afternoon, and I . . . unfortunately, I took it out on you.”
“That’s not exactly news,” she said miserably, looking down at the thong she still clutched in her hand. “Do you always take your anger out on others?”
He shook his head, looked at the flowers for a moment. “No. But I guess I’m like most losers in that regard—I didn’t take my anger out on someone I didn’t care about, someone like Tom. I took it out on someone who really matters to me. I’m sorry, Rebecca. More than I can say. I was so . . . wrong.”
Even though she could hear the contrition in his voice, she couldn’t let it be that easily tucked away. “Give me a break,” she said, waving the thong dismissively at him. “You don’t care about me. You care about your career and how you come off to the world. And if you and I get along in the meantime, that’s great, another notch in your bedpost. You’re just like all the rest.”
“Hey, what I did was wrong, and you have every right to be angry, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with all the rest of the sorry dogs you’ve known.”
“Why shouldn’t I? You act just like all of the sorry dogs I’ve known!”
He pressed his lips together, then blew out a hot breath. “Yeah, well, while we’re at it, you can act like a stuck-up beauty queen. One minute you leave me with a promise, and the next moment I’m twisting in the wind.”
“That may be your perception, but I never said it was anything more than what it was—a little fun.”
“A little fun?” he all but choked. “I felt something more than a little fun when I looked at you and when I kissed you, Rebecca. You did, too.”
“I didn’t.”
His gaze narrowed. He shook his head. “Christ, you know I love you, but you’re too chickenshit to admit that maybe you feel something, too. You’re too afraid to let yourself just be—”
He struck a nerve in her so raw that she reacted without thinking and hurled the other thong at him.
Matt dodged it, lowered his head. “That does it,” he said, and started toward her, gripping the bouquet like a weapon.
Rebecca instantly backed up, bumping into Adirondack chairs. He came striding forward while her worthless mutts rested in the shade, watching complacently instead of protecting her. She tried to dodge him, but he was too quick for her; his fingers closed around her wrist. She tried to wrench free, knocking the bouquet of roses from his hand; they scattered across the dock, some falling to the river below as she struggled to free her arm. But Matt pulled her roughly into his chest, his arms circled around her like a vice, and his mouth crushed down on hers, kissing her with as much fury as she felt, his tongue sweeping deep inside as he curled his fist into her wet hair to hold her head back so that he could kiss her like that, kiss her so she couldn’t breathe, kiss her until she couldn’t feel anything but him, his body hard against hers, his arms locking her to him, his lips brutally soft, and the tendrils of the emotion in his words twining around her heart, holding it captive.