“No.” His jaw was a straight, grim line, and his cheek pulsed against the grind of teeth. “I can’t… can’t get off that way.”
“Ah, you mean, with a hand?”
“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Weird sexual hang-up.” He let out a long, ragged breath. “I did this for you. Not me.”
Closing her eyes, Serena rested her forehead against his chest. “Why?”
“Because you needed it.”
“I could have given myself an orgasm if I needed it that badly.”
“Not one like that,” he said, with more than a little satisfaction, and she wrenched her arm from beneath him just enough to punch him in the shoulder.
“Seriously.”
“I was serious.” When she punched him again, he heaved a sigh. “You needed the connection between two people.” He snorted out a laugh. “My brother Shade says that if you pay attention, really listen, you will know what a female needs. I always thought he was full of it.”
“Shade?”
“Nickname.”
She nuzzled his neck, taking in his musky male scent. “Like Wraith?”
“Kind of.”
She braced a palm against his breastbone and pushed back a little. “How are you feeling?”
His hand curled around hers, and he brought it up to kiss her knuckles. “Better, thanks to you.”
“You said you’d been ill like that before. What was it? Are you sick?”
“Nothing to worry about.” He pulled away, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“I am worried.”
“Why?” Josh sat back against the bed, feet flat on the floor and forearms braced on his spread knees. His heavy-lidded gaze was wary. “Why would you worry about a complete stranger?”
“We’re hardly strangers now.”
He stared at her. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I really don’t.” She shifted onto one hip and smoothed her skirt out, more for something to do with her hands than because she was worried about wrinkles. “We haven’t known each other long, but we’ve been through some pretty intense stuff. More than most people go through together in a lifetime. I like you, Josh. A lot more than I probably should.”
He cursed, which confused the hell out of her.
“What is wrong with liking you? Would you rather I hated you?”
“No. I need you to like me—” He cursed again. “I mean, shit. Just, shit.” He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Just stop worrying about me, okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I worry about you?”
“Because it’s stupid,” he snapped. “I don’t need your concern. I get enough shit from my brothers.”
“Stupid? Shit? I’m giving you shit by taking care of you?” He didn’t answer, and anger roared through her. “I get that you had a horrific childhood, but you have people who care about you now, and you should be grateful.”
“You don’t know anything about my life, and you don’t want to.”
“How dare you?” She scrambled to her feet. “How dare you dismiss what I feel, as though it’s nothing?”
He let out a long-suffering sigh, as though this was all just so much inconvenience for him. “I didn’t ask you to feel anything for me.”
“Well, excuse me for being human.” She whipped open the door. “I’ll just go, since I’m stupid and my worry is such a bother to you.”
Josh cursed. “Serena, wait—”
But she didn’t hear the rest, partly because she’d slammed the door, and partly because her pulse was pounding so hard in her ears that it blocked out everything else.
Everything but the hurt.
Eleven
The knock at Gem’s apartment door came right on time. The table was set, the rosemary pork loin and oven-roasted potatoes were almost done, and dessert, a homemade pineapple upside-down cake, sat on the counter, looking all glazy and perfect. Kynan wouldn’t know what had hit him.
Nerves made her palms sweat as she walked to the front door. She’d put on her most conservative but sexy clothes—a flared, above-the-knee black skirt with a subdued skull-and-bones design at the top of the slit in the back, a creamy, sheer lace top, and chunky-heeled, ankle-high boots.
She was going to make him eat his rejection.
Her resolve almost flew out the window when she saw him. He looked hot, as usual, dressed in worn jeans, a blue sweater, and the leather bomber. His spiky hair was wet and he smelled like outdoorsy soap.
God, she wanted to jump on him, take him down to the floor, and ride him twice before dinner. Resisting the urge to fan herself, she ushered him in.
“Wow,” he said, as he stepped into the entryway. “You look nice.” He sniffed the air. “Something smells good.”
“Pork loin.” She led him to the kitchen. “Something to drink? Beer? Wine?”
“I don’t drink anymore.”