Abruptly, before he did something he’d regret—or at least more than he’d already done, more than he already regretted—he stood and stepped away from her. “I can’t.”
Hurt flashed across her face, and the sight tore at Mitch. She sank back on her heels, hands clenched, that damn robe still open. . .
“You can’t?” Anger flushed her cheeks, but hurt darkened her eyes. “You can fuck a different woman every week in San Francisco, but you can’t make love to me once?”
Shock hit him first but slid directly into anger. Every word held judgment and censure—neither of which he deserved. The anger he’d put on the back burner reheated.
“No, I can’t.” He fought to hold back the confessions fighting to tumble forward—because you meant everything to me, they meant nothing; because I loved you, not them. And managed a lesser, “Because you’re not them.”
She pulled in an audible breath and jerked back as if he’d slapped her. Mitch instantly heard his words in a completely different way, but it was too late to take them back. Too complicated to explain. Her eyes burned with a combination of fury and pain.
“Of course not.” She stood from the bed, petulant, and faced him, the robe falling open carelessly at her sides. “I should have realized I’d never be enough for you anymore.”
His frown deepened and confusion pushed questions to his lips. Halina had always been more than he’d ever hoped to find in one woman. There was nothing enough about Halina, only heavenly excess. But this belief was for the best. If she hated him, she wouldn’t tempt him into a situation where he’d end up broken again.
His gaze strayed down her parted robe and stopped on her nearly bare sex, hidden by only a touch of darkness, and his mouth grew restless, hungry. Starved.
Why couldn’t he just turn off and take her, the way he did with every other woman? Surely if he concentrated hard enough . . . Or why not imagine he was with someone else, the way he sometimes found himself imagining he was with her when he was with another woman?
“I’m not five-foot-nine,” she said, growing angrier. “I’m not a double D. I haven’t had any cosmetic surgery. I wasn’t in the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated.”
Mitch’s gaze darted up, eyes narrowed. Knowing he’d had an active social life was one thing. With his high-profile dates, he often showed up in the social section of the paper. He’d occasionally had photos of himself and his date printed in magazines if the woman was remotely well known. But Halina wasn’t quoting names; she had intimate details that would have required research.
“And just how do you know—” he started.
She swept past him, the robe flowing open as she walked. His mind took a U-turn and got lost.
Standing in front of the second suitcase Mitch had brought in from the car, Halina shrugged the robe from her shoulders. She met his gaze, her eyes bright with challenge as she let the white velour slide down her arms and drop to the floor.
The air whooshed from Mitch’s lungs in a soft breath. His body grew heavy and the strength in his thighs ebbed long enough to make his knees shake. And while he had to use every ounce of brain matter to keep himself from drooling, she just stood, wordlessly taunting him.
She was so . . . gorgeous. She seemed almost ethereal with all that long dark hair flowing around her, all that smooth, perfect skin, those light aqua eyes. Even the bruised forehead couldn’t detract from her beauty. Every curve of her body was honed, shaped with training and hours of strict exercise. He knew how much work it took to create each ridge he wanted to devour now.
“Halina . . .” His voice scraped from his throat, so thick with desire it hurt. “What . . . the hell . . . are you doing?”
“I was never up for an Emmy.” She started back in on those stupid statistics as she bent to pull jeans and a T-shirt from the suitcase. Mitch found it difficult to swallow, watching her skin slide over sleek muscle. “I didn’t earn a law degree from Vassar or a medical degree from Brown. I wasn’t the daughter of a Silicon Valley mogul or a congressman or a major movie producer.”
She stood with clothes in one hand and flicked her wrist in a careless gesture. “I was always just me, no matter what name I used. Too stupid to realize the American dream was a myth for a second-class Russian orphan.”
Exactly. I’m just Halina.
Her earlier comment came back to him. But it only blurred that already fuzzy image he’d developed of who she’d become. Halina’s emotions had always taken a backseat to the scientist inside her. Rational. Logical. Practical. Sensible. Those had always been the ruling elements of her personality.
But as a criminal attorney, Mitch knew everyone reached a breaking point. And that personalities changed when compressed in the vise of fear and stress.
She turned and strode toward the bathroom with extra sway in her hips and every thought vanished from Mitch’s mind. He had to reach for the bedpost just to stay upright.
“So you’re right, Mitch. I was never one of them. I’ll never be one of them. And since your tastes have clearly changed, I’ll never be enough for you.”
She stepped into the bathroom. Mitch’s head was storming with thoughts, his body a mess of tumultuous emotions and sensations when the door started to close. He moved fast and without thought. His hand caught the door before it shut and he curled his fingers around the edge. Frustration whirled inside him as he shoved the door open. The force knocked her back and she dropped her clothes.
“Mitch, stop it.” Her fast breaths blew strands of hair around her face. “You don’t want me. Fine. I get it—”
“How dare you judge me? Or put words in my mouth? What the fuck do you know about my life, Halina?” He approached slowly, knowing he should stay back and yell at her from the door, but drawn like an addict to coke. “You don’t know shit about who I am now. Or why I make the choices I make. You have absolutely no right to read a few articles in the paper and decide you know all about me. I can tell you right now, I am sure as hell not the puppy you whipped back then.”
“No, that man had morals,” she returned, not the least bit intimidated, which only angered him more. “That man didn’t go around screwing women without regard. Or need high-priced toys or notoriety to feel important. It all presents a pretty shallow image from the outside. If I were another attorney or a client, I’d question your principles, your work ethic—”
“Maybe that’s how I want it.” His voice boomed off the bathroom’s hard surfaces. He closed in on her, purposely towering over her because he knew she’d be too damn stubborn, too damn proud to step back from him. And he was right. She stood her ground, her chin tilted up so she could stare him down. “Maybe when other attorneys think I’m off screwing around, they don’t work as hard on their case. Maybe that gives me an advantage.”
He was too close. Way to close. Her body tossed off heat, daring him to touch. Her seductive scent, pure Halina, challenged him to ignore. Muscles tightened beneath her skin. Her nipples peaked hard just an inch from his chest. Her entire freaking body tested his control. And he wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to resist this woman or this situation.
She pushed a hand against his chest and he grabbed her wrist—hard. Too hard. He was too close to his breaking point. No one pushed him like Halina did. No one.