Page 45 of Until You Can't

I nodded, doing my best to keep a straight face. To not reach for her and do all the wicked things I wanted with her. Things that I sure as hell didn’t want to do with any of my friends.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Not yet, at least.” She continued fidgeting with the belt of her robe. “I think I have a problem that needs to be addressed before we can do the whole friends thing.”

My shoulders went back at her words. Problem? Was she in danger? Did she need help? “Who do I need to kill?” I roughly asked, stepping closer as my hands locked at my sides.

She let go of her belt and held her palms up. “No, no. Easy there, Captain America.” Her lips tipped into a gorgeous smile. “This kind of problem isn’t something I think you can help me with.”

I held the back of my neck, a bad feeling in my gut about where this conversation was heading. Memories from her words in my bedroom yesterday resurfaced, and I tightened my abs for the expected gut shot.

“I’m not a therapist, but I’ve been trying to understand why I seem to be . . . having such a reaction when around you. Sober or tipsy.”

“You were more than tipsy.”

“True.” She grimaced. “Thank you for not letting me make a fool of myself last night. Any more than I already did.”

I kept quiet, uncomfortable with what I knew was coming.

“I told you the other day, and well, if memory serves me correctly, last night—that I need some tension relief. Sexual tension relief.”

And there it is.

“Can I be honest with you?”

A humorless laugh escaped my tight lips. “That’s pretty much all you’ve been since I came home. Maybe try lying for a change?” I was only partially kidding. In truth, I wouldn’t survive much more “honesty” from this woman, especially with her talking about “sexual tension” while wearing a silk robe.

“I’ll take honesty over your way of handling things. Cryptic sentences you leave me to interpret. Unfinished lines of thought. And don’t get me started on your hate for lavender.”

My brows slanted, and I stepped closer at the realization that . . . “No lavender this time?”

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to see you today, and I didn’t want to annoy you if I did. I grabbed a bottle of body wash from my sister’s bathroom.”

I stalked over to her window, setting a hand and my forehead on the glass. I needed some breathing space.

“See. This,” she began, and I knew she was probably talking with her hands. “This is what I mean. Confusing the hell out of me.” She paused to see if I’d talk. I had no plans to, so she continued, “Should I even bother to get the truth from you about why you hate lavender?”

Silence.

That was all I could give her.

Any real answer would only sound insane.

Maybe I am insane?

“Fine,” she replied. “Back to the problem you can’t help me with, then.” Another pause. Another chance for my heart to break at what I knew was coming. “Before we can try this friends thing, I need to get rid of my pent-up sexual frustration. The fact I haven’t even been kissed by a man in over two years is more than likely the reason why I almost kissed you last night. Drunk or sober, I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t for this issue.”

I tapped my forehead against the window, curled my hand into a fist, and closed my eyes at that sharp, impaling reminder she’d been engaged to my brother. He’d had her in every possible way.

“Are you trying to tell me we can’t have a fresh start and be friends until you get laid?” I asked, my voice harsher than I intended. I was going for more incredulous, but I was angry and annoyed that she would even think that. One, we’d already talked about how dangerous and stupid it was to hook up with someone for sex. Two, was she that repulsed at the thought that I might be an option? I spun around to face her, incapable of shielding my frustration and went with my first thought to hide the fact I was even thinking the second. “I told you yesterday, screwing some stranger for tension relief was a shitty idea. Or did you forget?”

“Well,” she said while innocently lifting her shoulders, “the only alternative is screwing you.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

NATALIA

“I’m kidding,” I blurted.

Ryan’s face was pale, and his muscular arms hung by his sides. The only time I’d probably ever see any part of that man limp.

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