Tony sat on his bed, staring down at his heads.
Never in a million years did he think that Natasha Romanoff would kiss him. Even though that happened a few hours ago, he still wasn't sure how to comprehend it.
He could remember it vividly though. One moment, they were just staring at each other, dancing. And before he knew it, her lips were on his, kissing him, and he kissed back. She felt soft and sure, like she wanted to kiss him. But it ended as quickly as it began.
He swallowed, shaking his head. No, she didn't really want to kiss him. It just looked good. He was sure that was what she was thinking. But he couldn't help but have a shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, she returned the feelings he had for her.
He wasn't going to let himself get his hopes up. She couldn't possibly have meant anything with that kiss. This was Natasha. If she had feelings for anyone, it would be Clint.
"I don't know if I can do this," he whispered to himself, feeling lost.
Walking to the kitchen, he tried to think of the pros and cons of continuing with the assignment. If he decided to continue, he would have to endure this pain of feeling this way toward her, but knowing everything she did most likely meant nothing more to her than an assignment. However, if he wanted to end the assignment, he would have to have some good reason. She would want to know why he didn't want to continue, as not much made him uncomfortable. And he knew he would have no good response.
He poured himself a drink, breathing in deeply before downing it in one gulp. He needed to get in control of himself. He was Tony Stark, playboy and womanizer for crying out loud. One woman shouldn't have this much control over him.
But Natasha did.
After putting the glass in the sink, he headed down to his lab to drown out his thoughts and continue working on his suit. He needed distractions.