Mercury Rising

She did not smile back, not even marginally. “You’re not taking me seriously.”

“Yes, I am. You want a man to be your friend. Fine. Let’s be friends.”

It was a trap. She knew it. They’d play at being friends. And eventually, they’d make each other crazy enough that they’d give in to what was really driving this. And she should be insulted, that he would sit here in her kitchen and pretend to offer friendship when they both knew what he really wanted from her.

But she wasn’t insulted. She was too excited to be insulted. She just wanted to say yes—Yes, yes, yes. Whatever he wanted, however he wanted it.

“No.” She had to push the word out of her mouth. “I won’t be your friend.”

His long hand cupped his glass of tea. He stroked, wiping the moisture clinging to the side of the glass, so it slid down and pooled on the table. “Why not?”

She looked away from that stroking hand, made a low, tight sound of disbelief. “Because I really don’t think that my friendship is what you’re after.”

She was looking at his hand again. Slowly he turned the glass in a circle, smearing the puddle of moisture at the base of it. “You don’t, huh?”

She yanked her gaze upward and glared at him. “No, I don’t. Are you going to tell me I’ve got it all wrong?”

There it was again, the smile that didn’t quite happen. “Let me put it this way. I’ll try anything once, friendship included.”

She felt vaguely ridiculous, to keep on with this, to make all this effort to be truthful when she didn’t feel truthful, when she knew he was teasing her, making fun of what she said. But she did keep on. Because however pointless it felt to tell him these things, she believed they were things that had to be said. “I want marriage, a good marriage. I want a steady man, a man who’ll stick by me, a man who’ll be true.”

He had that golden head tipped to the side, as if he were considering whether or not to say what was in his mind.

“What?” she demanded. “Just say it. Say it now.”

He lifted one hard shoulder in a shrug. “Okay. How long’s it been, since Rusty died? You were, what, twenty?”

She had to clear her throat before she could answer. “Twenty-one. It’s been six years.”

“You run into any steady men, since then? Any true, good men?”

“Yes. Yes, of course, I have.”

“You dated a few of them, of those good guys, those solid guys?”

“That’s right. I did.”

“So what happened? How come you’re not with one of them now?”

Silently she cursed him. For knowing her secret truth, for hitting it right on the mark. “It didn’t work out, that’s all.”

“You’re looking away again. Let’s have some truth, Jane. Let’s have it out straight.”

She snapped her gaze back to collide with his and she muttered between clenched teeth, “You’re being purposely cruel. I’ve had enough of that, in my life. Cruelty. From a man.”

He leaned her way, just a little, enough that she felt him, encroaching, not quite enough to make her move back. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not him. Not Rusty. Yeah, all right, I’ve had my run-ins with the law. I’ve made trouble. I’m not exactly a solid citizen. And I’ve got no interest in getting married. But I’ve never held up a damn convenience store. I earn my way. I pay for what’s mine. And the kind of cruel I’m guessing Rusty Jenkins was to you, I’m not and would never be. Get out your stack of bibles. I can swear to that.”

Her lips felt dry and hot. She licked them.

His gaze flicked down, watched her do that. “God,” he whispered.

And she forgot everything, but the sound of his voice and the shape of his mouth. All at once, they were leaning in, both of them. She smelled him, smelled the heat and the maleness, the clean cotton scent of his T-shirt. She felt his breath across her cheek.

Just before their lips could meet, she shoved her chair back and jumped to her feet. “No.” It came out every bit as desperate-sounding as she felt. “No, please…”

He sat back, draping a hard arm over the back of the chair, looking up at her through lazy, knowing eyes. “I wasn’t sure. About you, about how you felt. Sometimes, when a man wants a woman, it’s easy to imagine reactions that aren’t really there. But it’s there, isn’t it? It’s as bad for you as it is for me.”

She clenched her fists at her sides. What could she say to that? What could she tell him? The truth was unacceptable. And she was not a woman who told lies. “Nothing is going to happen between us. It’s…not what I want. Please understand.”

“Not what you want?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah. I think I do.” The gleam in those pale eyes told it all. He knew what she meant, all right. All the wrong things she meant. Her good intentions were nothing to him.

“You’re purposely misconstruing what I’m saying.”

“You’re not saying what you really mean.”

“I am. Yes. I’m not going to go out with you. Nothing is going to happen between us. You’d better forget me. And I’ll forget you.”

He shook his head. That smile that wasn’t quite a smile was back on his sinfully beautiful face. “How long’s it been, since this started, this thing between us, this thing that you keep telling yourself is going to just fade away? Months, anyway, right?”

“What does it matter? I want you to go now.”

He didn’t budge from that chair. “It matters because you’ve been fighting it, right? And don’t think I haven’t been fighting it, too. I have. I mean, come on, I got your messages. Loud and clear. You know the ones. Get back. Keep away. Don’t come near.”

“But here you are, anyway.” She was sneering. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Sitting in my kitchen.”

“You invited me in.”

“And I also asked you to leave, not two minutes ago.”

He chuckled then. “Jane, Jane, Jane…”

“Stop that!” She realized she’d shouted, brought the volume down to a whisper of rage. “Don’t you laugh at me.”

His face had gone dead serious. “I’m not. You know I’m not. I’m just telling you the truth. Being honest, the way you say you want it. I don’t think this is funny at all. The truth is, I want you. You want me. You deny it. I deny it. But it keeps on. It’s kept on for months. Ignoring it is not going to make it go away.”

She had no reply for that. He was right. They both knew it. “Look. I mean it. I’d like you to leave now.”

“Fine.” He gathered those long legs up and stood.

She stepped back, clear of him. His body could not be allowed to touch hers—even accidentally, in passing.

He gave her a look that burned and chilled at the same time. “I suppose you want me to go out like I came in. Through the back. That way, there’s less chance someone might see that I was in here, less chance your mother might hear about it.”

She drew herself up. “The implication being that my mother somehow runs my life?”