Page 35 of Second First Kiss

A gust of wind kicked up and the rain really started coming down, and still they didn’t stop. Then he did this thing with his upper body, curling it around her and backing her up against his truck, sheltering her from the weather, from her shitty night, from the world that had come at her swinging, so many times. It made her feel . . .

Oh god. It made her feel. Things she had no business feeling. Things she’d promised herself she’d never fall prey to again.

Panic started swirling in her belly, acute and violent at how easily she’d fallen into the role of a woman who needed to be sheltered. Because, as she well knew, shelter could disappear at the first hint of a storm.

She needed to get this moment back into what it was meant to be. She relaxed her body in almost a bored posture and started undoing his belt. But no matter how hard she tried to unbuckle it her fingers kept slipping. They were shaking, she realized. And it wasn’t from the chilly evening air.

She knew the moment he felt the shift in her, because he slowed his mouth, gentling his kisses as if trying to comfort her. But she didn’t want to be comforted. She just wanted to be taken—away from the night, her problems, her life.

Their mouths became entangled in a war, him trying to salvage the moment they’d been working toward and her trying to ruin it. To run from it. She didn’t want tender, didn’t know what to do with tender. She wanted rough—because that’s what she was, right? Rough around the edges and complicated.

She went for his buckle again and his hand wrapped around her wrists, shackling them together and holding her still.

He pulled back and looked down at her, confusion etched into his expression. She thought she’d schooled her features fast enough, but something must have escaped because his confusion turned to gentle understanding—the jerk.

She didn’t understand what had happened so why should he?

“This isn’t a race,” he whispered, using his free hand to cradle her head. “We have time to take this slow.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to have sex with me?” Because that was all she had to offer. She didn’t have time or room or the courage to take things slow.

“Desperately,” he said.

She went for his buckle again. And again he stopped her.

“Then what’s the problem?” The second those words left her mouth, this unwanted but familiar feeling of embarrassment heated her body until she felt like her skin was too tight to hold her together.

She was the problem. Hell if she’d admit that though. So she did what she always did when feeling judged, she unsheathed her quills.

“Oh. Is this an inability to launch problem? You know, they have pills for that.”

“This has nothing to do with my abilities,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her to him and, whoa baby, based on the bulge in his pants, his missile was fueled and ready to take some lucky lady to deep space nine. “And everything to do with you not being ready.”

His words hit harder than R. J.’s. “Well, you snooze you lose. The offer is no longer on the table.” She tried to pull back, but he held on. “Let. Go.”

God, why did his rejection hurt so much? She’d had a lifetime to get used to the feeling, but this time it felt all-encompassing.

“Kat,” he said quietly.

“I said, let go.” She jerked back so hard she stumbled. He reached out to steady her, but she rejected his assistance. “Have a good night, Ranger.” She turned before he could read anything else she worked so hard to keep hidden.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“You can’t walk home in the rain,” he said.

“Watch me.”

And he did. Prince Nolan drove five miles per hour the entire walk home, using his high beams to light the road ahead of her. He even followed her into her driveway and pulled into her drive. It wasn’t until she was safely inside her house that she heard him shut off the engine.

10

As far as Kat was concerned, the other night never happened.

She hadn’t kissed Nolan, she hadn’t embarrassed herself, and she hadn’t run away like a scared little girl. And she hadn’t spent all day yesterday replaying what had gone wrong. And what had gone right.

And that was the problem. Too much had felt right for this not to be wrong. So very wrong. Or maybe she was the common denominator in this never-ending equation of broken relationships. Because no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t enough.

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