He could only stare at her for a moment, taken aback by her candor and her quick subject change. "Why . . .?" he echoed.
"Yeah, why. I want to know what I've done that makes you think I'd two-time anyone, let alone you."
"You're, uh . . . I don't think you're 'two-timing' me. That's not true."
"Then what's the issue here?"
"Him."
She sighed. "You know, he's really never done anything to you. The worst he's done is try to irritate you. It's not his fault it blew up in his face. And before you start whining," she added, "I'm not siding with him over you. I'm just explaining reality as it is outside the head of Bobby Goren."
"I just don't think it's appropriate for him to be giving you gifts and inviting himself to your apartment. He's your coworker."
She was pointedly silent for a second, then: "Do I need to explain to you the utter absurdity of that statement, given that you're currently standing, uninvited, in my kitchen?"
"That's different."
"Oh? And why's it different?"
"I'm your partner."
Noticing that the water was boiling, she slid off the counter and dumped the linguine into the pot. "So if Logan was my partner, you wouldn't disapprove of me cooking dinner like this," she said, indicating her state of undress, "with him? Get real, Bobby."
"It's different," he repeated, unable to put his argument into words.
"How?" she challenged, walking over to stand in front of him. "Why don't you just admit that you seem to think I'm your exclusive property?"
Her position mere inches from him gave him a good view of the cleavage her bra created. He swallowed. "I, uh . . ." he managed hoarsely, "I don't think you're my property. Or anyone else's property."
She raised her eyebrows and started tapping one of her feet impatiently.
"It's just that . . ." He stopped, licking his lips nervously. "You're . . . I . . ."
She reached past him and turned down the heat on the burner, still not saying anything.
His breathing hitched slightly when she brushed against him as she reached. "There aren't many people who I really care about," he said after taking a deep breath. "You're very important to me."
If she hadn't been so determined to get revenge and/or get an answer out of him, she might have melted right then, but she fought the urge and instead said, "What's that got to do with Mike?"
"He's . . . good with people. You said it yourself. He can have anyone he wants. I only . . . have you."
"That sounds disturbingly close to 'I'm settling for whatever I can get'," she said matter-of-factly. "Pasta's going to be done in a minute. You'd better talk your way out of this hole before then."
"Er . . ."
"Clock's ticking, Goren."
He clenched his jaw at her threat, then forced himself to relax. "You don't understand. He could be happy with any number of women. He's like that. But I . . ."
"Hmm?" she said mildly, tasting a piece of the pasta to make sure it was done. "It's done." She casually pushed him aside so she could strain the pot into the sink.
"Alex, are you even listening?"
"Of course I'm listening," she said as she tipped the pot. "I'm the one who ordered you to talk to begin with."
"You're not going to look at me?"
"Nope. Explain now or forever hold your peace."
He sighed. "Logan could be happy with anyone. He's that type of person. But me, I can't do that. What I feel for people is . . . too intense."
"Meaning. . . .?"
"Oh, hell." He turned away, resting his hands on the counter and lowering his head. "Meaning that you're the person who fits with me, and I'm afraid someone's going to take that away."
She glanced over at him, taking in his defeated posture, and slowly set the pot down in the sink. "Bobby . . ."
He shook his head. "Don't."
Ignoring that, she rested her hand on his arm and bent at the waist, trying to see his face. "Why not?"
"This isn't how it's supposed to work," he said. "It . . . I shouldn't put this on you."
Reversing what she'd done a few minutes earlier, she lifted one of his hands off the counter, ducking under it and putting herself in his arms. "Hey. Look at me," she said, leaning back against the counter so she could try to meet his downcast eyes. "I asked you to tell me, so if you're going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you," he said, refusing to meet her eyes. "You didn't ask for this."
"Neither did you. I'm getting the distinct impression that if you thought you could change this and not feel anything for me, you'd jump at the chance."
He raised his head just enough for her to see the shock in his eyes. "No! I wouldn't change . . . I like feeling this. I just wouldn't have dragged you into it if I could have avoided it."
"You didn't 'drag' me into anything. Stop giving yourself so much credit," she said, pushing back on his shoulders to try to get him to stand up straight. "I run my brain, not you."
"I can't control this."
"Is that what this is about? You feel out of control, and you compensate by trying to protect me from the world?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
"Look at me," she ordered gently.
"I don't want to."
"God, you're stubborn," she said without anger. "Look at me," she said again, putting her arms around his waist, "please?"
He raised hooded eyes to her face, expecting to find censure, but finding concern instead. "Alex, don't."
"Don't what?" she said. "Don't try to make you feel better while you're busy pitying yourself?"
He shook his head. "Don't be worried about me. And you are. I can see it in your eyes."
With a sigh, she used her arms to pull herself up to sit on the counter again, which gave her a better angle to see his face. "I'm always worried about you when you insist on trying to hide your problems."
"I'm not hiding. I told you, you don't need me to put this burden on you."
"That's stupid," she snapped. "Come here," she added, pulling on his shoulders until he stood against the counter, between her legs. Resting her arms over his shoulders and putting her forehead against his, she stared hard at him. "It's more of a burden when you won't talk to me, ok? Can you understand that?"
"Yes, but you . . . Alex, you don't understand. It's . . . I'm too . . . fearful and hopeful and intense . . . all at once . . ."
"And I have no problem with any of those," she said firmly. "If I did, we wouldn't be in this position. Would you please believe me for once when I say that you have nothing to worry about?"
He didn't answer, but he did finally look her directly in the eye.
"Ok?" she tried again.
His only response was to not pull away.
She didn't know what his silence was intended to communicate, but it was starting to annoy her. "Cat got your tongue?" No answer. "Ok, how about if you can hear me, blink twice."
There was a pregnant pause as he just looked at her for a second, and then he let out a shuddering breath and pulled her to the edge of the counter so he could hug her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
She rested her cheek on his bowed head. "You need to stop being sorry and just start being honest with me. There'll be a lot fewer apologies for you to make in the first place, that way."
His lips moved against her neck as he whispered something she couldn't hear.
Forcing his chin up, she stroked her thumb over his cheek. "What? I didn't hear you."
He leaned into her hand. "I need you," he whispered again.
"Bobby, you have me," she said insistently, relaxing against his chest. "When are you going to realize that?"
"I don't know," he said, skimming his hands over her bare back. "So unsure . . ."
She wrapped her dangling legs around his hips and twined her arms around his neck as though enveloping his body with hers would insulate him from his fears. "Well, I'm sure. And you trust me, don't you?"
"Yes." She was surrounding him, pressing her naked body against his from shoulders to groin. Did she realize that he was fighting not to snatch her off the counter and just lose himself in her? "Alex . . ." he groaned.
Without releasing him from the hug, she stretched out her fingers and pulled his shirt out of his pants. "Do you have any idea," she said conversationally, as she inched it up his back, "how frustrating it is to keep losing you to your fears every time I get close to you?"
He allowed her to pull away enough to remove his shirt and toss it toward the chair her robe lay on. "Then don't let me go," he whispered, pulling her back into his embrace. "Keep me with you."
She pulled him closer with her legs, crossing her ankles behind his back, and kissed him. A quiet gasp escaped her when she felt him against her. "Bed," she muttered after a few seconds. "Now. Before we can fight."
He froze against her. "You want . . ."
"Bed," she repeated, louder. "I'm not letting you run away tonight."
Oh god, he thought. Is this really happening? "I'm not going to run," he told her. "Are you sure you want this? After today, I mean . . ."
She ran her hands down his chest to his belt and began to unbuckle it. "Ok, I guess if you don't feel like going all the way to bed . . ." she began as though he hadn't spoken, her voice trailing off into a quiet laugh as she heard his sharp intake of breath.
He couldn't remember what they'd been talking about thirty seconds ago. All he was conscious of was that she had just pulled his belt off and now she was reaching for the button on his pants.
"You're overdressed," she told him as she unzipped his fly. She tried to push his pants down, but couldn't get any leverage from her sitting position. "Off," she ordered, moving her attention to his broad chest in the meanwhile.
He started to say her name, to question her again, but the look in her eyes begged him to do as she asked. He released his hold on her while he pulled off his shoes and pants, then straightened up again to find her watching him hungrily. Of their own volition, his arms shot out and wrapped around her, unhooking her bra and pulling it down her arms. "God," he breathed as he took in the sight of her naked upper body.
Hardly aware of his exclamation, she started trying to rid him of his boxers.
"Hold on," he said quickly, backing a step away from her. "And no, I'm not running," he said when he saw the fear written on her face. "But this isn't how tonight's going to go."
She groaned. "Bobby, enough with the perfection . . . ism!" she said, ending on a squeak as his hand slid up her thigh.
"Wrong," he said, resting his hands on her hips and pulling her off the counter. "There's plenty more to come."
She reflexively wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on. "Bobby . . ."
"You did tell me to take you to bed, didn't you?"
He had a point. She settled down in his arms, allowing him to carry her to the bedroom and savoring the sensation of his skin against hers.
When they reached the bed, he tried to drop her on it jokingly, but she held on with her arms around his neck just long enough to give his shoulder a playful retaliatory bite.
Then she fell onto the bed and held out her arms to him.