LITMIR.BIZ

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twitched with another wry smile. “We’re close, yeah. But not like that. I love Carla like a sister, but she’s my partner. Dancing with her would be like...like dancing with one of the guys.”

      “Well, there has to be some woman here who you’re involved with,” she practically snapped, becoming desperate. She needed a cold slap of reality in the face, some kind of sign that declared him hands-off, because if she wasn’t careful, she was going to get herself in deeper water than she could handle. “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Someone you’re dating?”

      “I’m sorry to disappoint you, honey, but no. No woman...and no girlfriend. I’m as free as a man can be.”

      Hell. That so wasn’t what she needed to hear.

      It didn’t matter how badly she wanted to accept the fleeting moments of sexual pleasure he was offering her with that wicked smile and smoldering stare—she simply couldn’t do it—and for the second time that night, Elise wondered why she couldn’t have met him when she was younger. Of course, knowing the kind of girl she’d been back then, she probably would have turned up her nose at him, believing herself too good to have a fling with a Bloodrunner. Stuck-up and snide, she’d had a mountainous chip on her shoulder, always acting as if she thought she was better than everyone around her. Disgusting, but embarrassingly true. She’d been so different then, thinking the world revolved around her and her problems, when she couldn’t have been further from the truth.

      It’d taken countless months of therapy after her attack to come to the understanding that she’d formed her spiteful attitude and narcissistic self-obsession as a defense mechanism for dealing with her misogynistic father. And she’d done a damn good job of building those defenses. So much so that it’d taken a night of living hell to break her down, taking her to pieces, until there was nothing left of her to offer a man like Wyatt. The feminine part of her that longed for an emotional connection with a man, as well as a physical one, no longer worked the way that it should—and though she struggled each day to be strong, Elise knew there was nothing that could ever repair the damage. No therapeutic Band-Aid that could heal her soul.

      Wyatt stared down at her with a curious look on his striking face, then quietly asked, “Are you going to keep quizzing me about the women in my life, or are we finally going to talk about it?”

      “Talk about what?” she whispered, painfully aware that her panic and fear were bleeding through, loud and clear. With his heightened senses, he could probably scent her unease with every breath he took, and she fought not to cringe.

      He didn’t offer any inane platitudes to ease her nerves. He just smiled down at her with that slow, sensual twisting of his lips, the shape of his mouth firm, masculine and yet impossibly beautiful. There was a nick on his chin, where he’d obviously cut himself shaving, and Elise found herself wanting to lift onto her toes and press a tender kiss against the small wound. A strange compulsion, considering she hadn’t kissed anyone in years—hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in years—but then this entire night was turning out to be one stunning dose of bizarre.

      She swallowed against the lump in her throat, suddenly terrified that he wanted to talk about the way she’d been watching him throughout the night, stealing as many desperate glances as she could. Embarrassed, she looked away. She could feel the heat burning in her face, the dark, curious weight of his gaze as he stared down at her only making it worse. “Talk about what?” she asked again, unable to disguise the quiver in her words.

      “About what’s happening between...” His voice trailed off as he took in her panicked expression. “You know, on second thought, I think we’ll save that particular conversation for another day,” he offered in a low rumble, and even though she could sense the tension in his body, she knew he’d decided not to push the issue. “But there’s something I need to tell you, El. I mean to get to know you. I don’t expect it to be easy, but you should know that it’s something I’ve set my mind to.”

      From one breath to another, she could feel the color drain from her face, and she looked back to him, blinking against the slow rise of anger building up inside her. Hoping it wasn’t true, but knowing that it was, she said, “You’ve asked about me, haven’t you? That’s why you’re being so damn nice and so bloody careful, isn’t it?”

      His lashes lowered, shielding his gaze, and she cut him off before he could even bother denying it. “Don’t lie to me,” she quietly seethed, thankful he’d kept them at the far edge of the dance floor, away from the other couples. “And don’t coddle me! I’m so sick and tired of everyone walking on eggshells around me, afraid I might go off the deep end. Just answer the question, Pallaton. You know about what happened to me, don’t you?”

      His expression was nothing short of grim. “You mean with your father?”

      “No, I’m not talking about the crap that happened last year. I’m talking about before!”

      For a moment, he simply watched her, the look in his eyes growing darker, deeper, and then he gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod. “Yeah, I know.”

      Despite the counseling she’d gone through, shame poured through her, sickening and painfully familiar, and she struggled to breathe her way through it.

      “Elise, I meant what I said,” he told her, his grip firming, as if he thought she was going to pull away. It was terrifying, watching the resolve harden his features, his expression cut with stark lines of determination. “All I want right now is a chance for us to get to know each other. I’m not pushing you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

      “You’re wasting your time,” she argued, flattening her palms against the solid muscles of his shirt-covered chest as she pushed against his hold. “It’s not going to happen. I...I can’t.”

      “Can’t?” he quietly rasped. “Or won’t even try?”

      Her anger rose with her panic, and she fought to control her voice as she hissed, “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you don’t know me. You don’t know my life. You don’t know anything but gossip. Don’t you dare judge me!”

      His voice became a soft, gentle growl. “I don’t want to judge you. I just want the chance to be friends with you. To deal with this thing we have going.”

      She blinked, wondering what on earth he was talking about. “Thing? What thing?”

      They’d long since stopped dancing, though he still held her in his arms. Obviously choosing his words with care, he said, “We might not be happy about it, but there’s something between us. I know you don’t give most men the time of day, but I want that to change. I want you to take a chance and get to know me.”

      “So that I’ll what? Suddenly decide to sleep with you?” she sneered, breaking away from him.

      His mouth went hard, the shuttered look in his eyes narrow and sharp. “So that you can learn to trust me. Be friends with me. If that’s all you want, then I’ll find a way to accept it.”

      She lifted her chin, her arms wrapped tight around her middle, too angry to care if she was causing a scene. “You’re crazy!”

      He didn’t reach for her again. He just stood there, looking devastatingly handsome in his tux, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal his thick wrists and the corded length of his powerful forearms as he shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his slacks. The snowy-white of his shirt was startlingly bright against the dark russet tone of his skin, attesting to his Native American heritage, and she couldn’t help but think that it should have been a sin creating a man who looked that good. But even more frightening than the gorgeous exterior was the man inside.

      “I mean it, Wyatt. You’re wasting your time.”

      “I know you’re afraid,” he told her, keeping his voice low, “but there’s something you should know about me, El. I can be a patient man when I need to be.”

      “A patient man?” She laughed, but the brittle sound was born too much from terror and pain than actual humor. “There’s

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