Page 32 of The Rebel

‘Enough.’ I put up a hand. Like that’s going to stop him if he wants to come closer. ‘I’m mad at you.’

‘I know. And I deserve it.’ He shakes his head and his mouth downturns into its signature moue. ‘I came to apologise.’

I won’t make it easy for him, despite his hangdog expression. ‘How noble of you.’

He winces. ‘I’ve been a prick because it’s who I am. I don’t like getting personal and I’ve fucked this up badly.’

Okay, so his gut-honest declaration gets to me a little.

‘Just so you know, I’m not a fan of rollercoasters. Never have been. They make me barf worse than stationary boats. So this temperamental thing you’ve got going on followed by lame-ass apologies?’ I make a slicing action across my neck. ‘I’ve had it up to here. It’s not going to cut it.’

His woeful expression makes me want to hug him. ‘Yeah, I know. Can we talk?’

I shouldn’t waver. I should abandon talk altogether when it comes to this lunatic and focus on the physical. But he’s staring at me with those big puppy eyes, practically pleading with me to hear him out, so I relent. I’m a wuss like that.

‘Fine.’ I shut the door and gesture to the comfy-cushioned cane sofa. ‘Knock yourself out.’

‘I was way out of line when I snapped at you down on the dock in relation to my work with kids.’

‘Yeah, you were.’

I wait until he sits so I can sit opposite. The last thing I need is to have him too close on the sofa.

‘What I’m about to tell you is private and can’t appear anywhere in relation to the hotels, got it?’

I refrain from rolling my eyes at him for stating the obvious and settle for a nod.

‘I do a lot of behind the scenes work for foster kids around the world, setting up outreach centres so they have a safe place to go when needed.’

He glances away but not before I glimpse pain, the kind of soul-deep agony I have no hope of understanding. ‘It’s public knowledge I was a foster kid when Pa found me. He gave me so much that I like to pay it forward with other kids.’

He taps his chest. ‘I know what they’re going through because I’ve been there, done that. And I don’t need fucking praise from anybody for it, so that’s why I prefer to keep it private.’

There’s so much more he’s not telling me. I see it in the compressed lips, in the bunched shoulders, in the rigid neck. He’s hurting and it’s more than pity for the kids he empathises with.

But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not going to push. I’m stunned he’s shared this much with me and for now it’ll have to do.

‘I hate having to explain myself to you…’ He shakes his head, his mouth so twisted it’s like I’m torturing him with nipple clamps. Not that I know what that’s like. I’ve heard. Online. As part of research for the PR I did on a sex-toy store. ‘We both know the score. We’re fucking, that’s it. But this feels way too complicated.’

My heart sinks. ‘It doesn’t have to be.’

He waves his hand between us. ‘The fact I’m here apologising for my behaviour when I hate doing that is testament that this is more than sex.’

He’s right, damn him.

So I need to get this back onto an even keel, by doing something we both understand: focussing on our sexual attraction.

‘Don’t sweat it. We both know you coming here and sustaining a dent in your alpha armour is your warped version of foreplay.’

‘Damn it, you’re making this difficult,’ he mutters, and only then do I allow a smile.

The moment he sees my smug grin his shoulders relax and he slumps back in the sofa. ‘You’re toying with me.’

‘Just a little?’ I hold up my thumb and forefinger an inch apart and he chuckles.

‘Am I forgiven?’

‘Yeah, but only because I’m too hungry to continue this conversation.’ I pad across the room to where he’s set up the trolley. ‘You hungry?’

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