I turned, tucking a strand of errant hair behind my ear. His vest was off and the glimpse of his strong neck and chest where his shirt opened drew my eyes. I swallowed. I didn’t want this confrontation. Not now. Goddamn it. I didn’t want it ever, actually. I’d just wanted to fade back into the woodwork—let my fairy tale dissipate and go back to my normal life without ever having to deal with this unpleasantness.

I cleared my throat. “Okay, first, about the money…”

He looked at me expectantly but he said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

“After our conversation the night I stayed over at your house, I decided—I mean, I figured we wouldn’t go through with this, right? So—so I thought it was best to have the money sent back to your account. I asked Heath to do it. No—no services rendered, no payment. And this—this whole fucked-up thing can just fade away and we won’t have to—”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t want that money back.”

A fist closed at my side. His eyes darted to it. “Well tough shit. You’re getting it back.”

He sighed and looked away, out over the bay. “It’s not prostitution if we don’t sleep together.”

I shook my head. “Um, no. Wrong. You sent me money. We’ve been fooling around. It is prostitution. I obviously don’t have the same problem with it that you do, so don’t turn this around on me. I’m doing you a favor by calling this off.”

He blinked. “The auction was for your virginity.”

“That’s a clear-cut argument, if you’re splitting hairs.” I raised my hand and jutted a finger toward his solid chest. “You keep saying that you’re the one in control of this situation and yet you have been losing control all along and that’s the real reason you’re pissed.”

His jaw set but he stood absolutely still. A fist of foreboding closed over my chest. He wore that strangely calculating expression—the one that meant he was thinking about ten other things alongside the conversation he was currently having.

When he spoke, it was with a quiet, even voice despite the anger in his eyes. “If you sent the money back, there is no deal now.”

I shifted my stance, feeling like a dragonfly about to be lured into a spider’s web. “That’s right. The deal is canceled.”

His eyes met mine, hard as flint. “So what about this bullshit about not seeing each other again when we return home?”

I exhaled. “That was always part of the agreement—”

He made a chopping gesture with his hand. “But you just said there is no agreement.”

I shook my head. “There’s no future for us. I mean, given how we first met and the arrangement and how everything has turned out. Heath said it best and I ignored him for so long. It’s sick. This is sick.”

The flush crept up from his jaw into his chiseled cheeks. “And what the hell does Heath know about us? I mean about what’s really going on here. He doesn’t. So why are you letting his opinions influence you? Why are you listening to him and not to me?”

I lowered my face, put my hand to my forehead. I couldn’t say the words that were almost on my lips. Because I can’t trust you. Now it was my turn to remain silent. Because honestly, I had no words and I could feel his agitation mounting no matter how much he fought to appear calm.

“So everything that’s gone down between us is sick? What happened in that bed this morning was sick?” He spoke in an even voice that was taut, edgy. A vein at his temple throbbed.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then what is this all about? Do you want to end this?”

“I don’t even know what ‘this’ is! What is there to end?” I finally said. Then I cleared my throat, my arms stiffening with indignation. “This was you…bidding on an auction for some unknown reason—an auction that you fundamentally cannot believe in. And then prolonging the outcome for as long as you can. You’ve manipulated this all along and now you are asking me to trust you? To listen to you? You should have let me go at the beginning so I could go through with this with someone else.”

He swallowed. “It’s not too late,” he finally said. It sounded like the words had been torn from him.

My chin came up and I folded my arms across my chest, his words stinging me like a shower of sharp pebbles. “You’re right. It isn’t.”

But my chest felt heavy. Because I wanted him, now. I wanted the experience to be with him and I couldn’t name why. The thought of going out and finding someone else—maybe Mr. New York or some Arab sheik or something—actually left me with a sick feeling.