Страница 33

Chapter Thirteen

What were you thinking?" The words greeted her as she walked through the door to her apartment. Russ was already inside, which didn't surprise her since she had dawdled on her return here, dreading facing him.

"I wanted to see you play," she said, setting her purse down on the end of the breakfast bar. He was standing in the center of her living area, hands on hips.

"Why?"

She shrugged, trying to think of an excuse. The last thing she would tell him that her interest in him was growing well beyond the sexual. "Curiosity. I don't know anything about hockey except what you've told me."

"You could have looked it up online or bought a book. Why did you come to my game? I didn't even mention it to you."

"But you play the same place every week. Your team's schedule is on the Internet."

His eyes widened slightly. "You looked it up?"

"I was curious, that's all! I wanted to see you play, and I didn't think you'd want me to watch. My intention was that you not see me at all. How was I to know that no one else watches the games, and Daphne and I would stick out like palm trees on the polar ice cap?"

"So you pla

Her apprehensions of the evening slipped over into anger and she raised her voice. "I didn't plan to do anything! And what's the big deal, anyway? Huh? You sleep with me three times a week; it doesn't seem such a crime that I want to learn a little bit more about you!"

"Is that what you want? To know more about me?"

"It feels like you know all there is to know about me, but you give me precious little insight into your own life."

"I've shared more with you than I have with anyone in the past five years."

She tucked in her chin, taken aback. She hadn't expected that. "Are you serious?"

"It's not something I'd lie about."

She frowned, trying to figure him out. "Why me? Why tell me so much?"

"Maybe because you tell me so little."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, stu

"I don't know how to please you in bed."

The statement took the breath from her, guilt sweeping over her. "I'm happy with how you treat me in bed."

He shook his head. "You know what I'm talking about, Emma. You won't let me give to you the same pleasure that you give to me. Why?"

"Because this isn't about me. This whole relationship is about pleasing you. That's my job."

"Maybe I don't want to feel like you're doing me as your job."

"You seemed happy enough!"

"Even a kid will get sick of candy eventually and want something real to eat."

She felt stricken. "You're sick of me?"

He came forward and held her by the shoulders. "I'm not sick of you. Nor am I some stereotyped horndog who cares only about himself. I want to make love to the real Emma, not a French servant girl or a harem wench. Not even to someone whose mind is elsewhere, and whose only goal is to get me off. There is pleasure in giving pleasure: pleasure in knowing that you've touched a place deep inside a person; that she's trusted you with her secret desires, and felt safe enough to lose control in your arms. You've deprived me of that-whether by design or ignorance or fear, I don't know. But without it, we can't go on."

"I like what you do to me, Russ-truly I do. I don't know why I don't stay with it all the way; why I don't let you get me 'there.'"

He slid his hand up her neck and into her hair. "What am I doing wrong? Why won't you open up to me?"

"I don't even open up to myself," she said softly.

"Why?"

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest. "I don't know. I think I'm afraid."

"Of what?" he asked more gently.

"Of embarrassing myself. Making a fool of myself. Being laughed at. Being vulnerable."

She felt him smooth his hand through her hair. "It's okay to be afraid. It's not okay to let that fear stifle you." He kissed her temple, his lips lingering as he whispered, "Tell me what you want."

His words shivered down her spine and she closed her eyes. "I don't know what I want."

He stepped back, holding her away from him. She opened her eyes in surprise.