Sweet Sinful Nights

She froze, her fingers gripping the glass. An unexpected bead of worry streaked through her. She didn’t want to hear that he might not want her. Not when she couldn’t extinguish her desire for him.

But she didn’t show up at his club to satisfy the sweet ache in her body. She was there to right her own wrong. To soothe the shame in her soul. She held up a hand as a stop sign and shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. I came here to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have slapped you last night.” She put down her glass as she fidgeted with a silver bracelet on her wrist. She took a breath to center herself, then looked in his eyes. He was regarding her intently, as if she were an equation he didn’t understand.

“I have no idea why you would apologize to me,” he said, walking around the bar and joining her on her side.

“I shouldn’t have behaved like that. Hitting you. That’s not the kind of person I want to be.”

He laughed deeply. “One, I deserved it. I was a dick. Two, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it makes you like your mother. But you’re not. That was completely different.”

She shook her head, her voice rising as she disagreed with him. “You didn’t deserve it. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He took a step back and narrowed his eyes. His voice was strong, overriding hers. “You are completely wrong. I’m the one who needs to apologize—”

“No, you’re not!” she said, and now she was borderline shouting.

“Yes, I am,” he said, his voice like a stake in the ground.

Then it hit her. The two of them were actually arguing over who had the right to be more wrong.

She reined in a laugh. “Do you realize what we’re doing? We’re fighting again. This time over who should apologize.”

A small smile formed on his lips. “Yes, we are,” he said. Then he turned serious as he dropped his hands on her shoulders, parking them there. She loved how he held her. His firm grip sent a flurry of sparks across her arms, bare in a silky black tank top. “But I’m winning this round,” he added, a glint in his eyes. “Like I said, you have nothing to apologize for. You are nothing like your mother. And I deserved that slap because you were right. I haven’t apologized to you and there’s so much that I need to say, and I wanted to start by just giving you a little something.”

He let go of her to reach for the bag on the counter. “I picked this up this morning. Dropped it off here,” he said, handing her the shiny red shopping bag with slim handles. Her heart beat faster. He had always given her little things when they were together. Pretty postcards of London, Paris, Vienna, and all the places where she wanted to go someday. A song she’d heard at a coffee shop and wanted to listen to on her computer. A mini lemon cupcake, because every now and then she permitted herself little treats.

She opened the bag, rustled around in the tissue paper and pulled out a thin, blush pink, silk scarf. She didn’t even try to contain a smile. “This one’s a scarf,” she said.

“I know. And I bet it looks amazing on you. I also thought if you wanted to leave it behind, I can steal it again, so I can say I’m sorry another time. I’ll say I’m sorry ten thousand times if I have to. And I know this scarf doesn’t even begin to cover all of my crimes, so I hope you’ll take it in the spirit I’ve given it. It’s just a little something because I thought it was pretty and I thought it would look good on you. But then, everything looks good on you,” he said, his hands clenched at his side.

She could tell he wasn’t angry. Instead, he was holding himself back. He probably wanted to put the scarf on her. She probably would have let him in the past, but everything between them now was too raw, too new, too dangerous. So she tossed it around her neck, striking a pose. She was flirting, and surely she shouldn’t be. But it was so easy, so familiar to play like this with him. And it felt so good, even for a sliver of a moment in time.

“Thank you. I love it,” she said, stroking the fabric. His breath hitched as she touched it, and she let go quickly, reaching for the glass of soda and taking another sip. Her hands felt unsteady. She looked at him again. His hands were in his pockets now, and he was shifting back and forth on his heels.

“But Shan, that’s not all I have to say. That just barely scratches the surface.”