“I… I’m sorry,” I gasped, burning with shame and unfulfilled need.
Dean levered himself off me, his shoulders cording with tension. “No, it’s me. I went too fast.”
“No, it’s not that. I…” God in heaven. Words stuck in my throat. Explanations tangled in my brain.
Dean tugged my skirt back down my legs and sat up. He dragged his hands over his face and through his hair, expelling his breath on a heavy sigh.
I stared at him, wanting to touch the strong lines of his profile, smooth my hand over his neck. I fought the ache threatening to break open my chest.
“Dean.” My voice was thin and ragged.
He held up a hand. “Just… give me a minute, Liv.”
Silence filled the space between us, broken only by the sound of our breathing. He pushed to his feet and went into the bathroom.
Embarrassed and not wanting to prolong the awkwardness for either of us, I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bag, and hurried out the door. The street was bordered by several other apartment buildings, so there were at least three bus stops.
Cold air whipped against my face. Buttoning my jacket, I walked a few blocks to a stop farther away and prayed a bus would arrive soon.
“Liv!”
I tensed as Dean hurried toward me, his jaw tight with frustration. His jacket was open, his hair messy. He came to a stop and glowered at me.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.” I hunched into my jacket against the chill.
Dean swore, pulling a hand down his face again before he visibly tried to regain control of his emotions. “If you want to go home, I’ll take you.”
“I do want to go home.”
“Then come on.” He turned and stalked toward the apartment building.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and followed him to the underground parking garage. Tears stung my eyes. I badly wanted to explain, but I didn’t know where to start. And Dean’s irritation felt like a forbidding wall I couldn’t breach.
He yanked open the door for me, then went around to the driver’s seat. Tense silence filled the air as he drove down University Avenue, his hands gripping the wheel. I thought he’d drop me off and leave, but he got out of the car to walk me to the front door.
I stopped on the doorstep and turned, keeping my gaze on the column of his throat. “I’m sorry.”
He let out a breath and lifted a hand to touch me, then dropped it to his side. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s my fault.”
“I’m not… I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m playing games,” I said.
The idea that he might think that of me was laughable. I was incapable of playing games with men. I didn’t know any of the rules.
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
I fumbled to fit my key in the lock, my eyes stinging again. Dean waited until I was safely inside, but didn’t respond to my mumbled good-night. Still, I felt his gaze on me through the glass door before I turned to walk up the stairs to my apartment.
Old memories and nightmares blistered my sleep that night until finally I got up and spent hours staring blindly at the TV. A black, empty pit cracked open inside me. At dawn, I hauled myself over to my computer and opened my email to find a message from him.
Liv, I’m so damn sorry. Can I see you again?
No. That was all I needed to say. I would never hear from him again.
N-o… My hands trembled on the keyboard. No, you can’t, Dean. You can’t see me again, and I shouldn’t want to see you…
I stared at the message, trashed it, and wrote: You can come over tonight.
I hit the send button before I could think anymore. I sat there with my heart pounding until his response came four minutes later. I’ll be there at seven.
I dressed and went to morning classes, worked an afternoon shift at Jitter Beans, then tried to study at the library before going home. I showered and changed into loose black pants and a T-shirt.
After clipping my hair back into a ponytail, I paced the living room until the bell rang five minutes before seven. I buzzed Dean in and left my apartment door partway open.
“Liv?” He knocked and pushed it open the rest of the way.
“Hi.” I ran my shaking hands over my thighs, unable to stop myself from drinking in the arresting sight of him in jeans and a rugby shirt that looked thick and soft. His hair was rumpled in the way I was beginning to love, the length brushing the top of his collar and curling over his ears.
He shut the door and shucked off his jacket, not looking anywhere but at me.
“Liv, I’m sorry,” he said.
I shook my head. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was.” His eyes flashed with self-directed irritation. “I went too fast, and I scared you. I didn’t mean to.”
Oh, Sir Galahad…
My throat constricted. “I wasn’t… I don’t want you to think…”
I didn’t even know what to say, much less how to say it. As much as I had thought about being with a man like Dean West, I didn’t know if I could ever actually do it.
And I didn’t understand why he would even want me to.
Dean was successful, authoritative, experienced, sophisticated, assured.