Kit’s wrapped in a towel with another turbaned around her head. Paul turns to her, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. It had better be a profuse apology.

She glares at him for no more than a moment, and then she ducks into my bedroom and closes the door behind her.

“Shit,” Paul signs. “I f**ked that up.”

He knocks on the bedroom door. He knocks again. His hand wraps around the doorknob, and he starts to turn it, but she’s wrapped in a towel. I can’t let him in there. I leap over the back of the couch, and put myself between him and the door. I push his chest back and point toward his bedroom door.

“I need to apologize,” he says. He’s grimacing, and his face is flushed. He didn’t mean it. Well, he did mean it. But he didn’t. “I didn’t know she was there.”

I sign the word tomorrow. I place my hands on his chest and push him back gently. I couldn’t manhandle Paul even if I wanted to. He’s a great big son of a bitch. Even bigger than me. And twice as mean. Tomorrow I say again. I got this. I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her you didn’t mean to hurt her feelings.

He nods and runs a frustrated hand across the stubble he calls hair. “Sorry,” he says.

I nod, and let myself into my bedroom. I lean back against the door. I expect to see her angry and throwing things. Or crying. I really don’t know what to expect. I don’t know her well enough to have a clue. She’s doing neither. She’s standing there looking at me. She unrolls the towel from her hair and her locks spill down over her shoulders. Her hair is all wet and tangled and she fluffs it with the towel, blotting it dry. She looks at me, but she hasn’t said anything yet.

“He didn’t mean that,” I start.

“I think he’s right,” she says. Then she raises her arms, pulls the towel free of where it’s tucked between her tits, and drops it to the floor. She kicks it across the room with her delicate little naked toe. She’s starkly, completely, beautifully, perfectly, delectably naked. “I think you should f**k me and get it out of your system. Then you can be done with me.”

Emily

I’m shaking like a leaf, and I desperately want to cross my arms over my chest. But I force myself to stand there. He looks at my pointed toe as I kick the towel to the side. My heart leaps in my chest, kicking like an angry mule. I expect his eyes to drag up my leg, and then to the rest of me, and my body heats in anticipation of his gaze. But he doesn’t. Instead, he rushes to the closet, yanks a t-shirt from a hanger and hands it to me.

I finally do cross my arms, but it’s so that I can more effectively glare at him. He looks everywhere but at me, and then bunches the shirt up in his hands, rucking it up until he can slide it over my head. He tugs it down until my hips are covered. Then he steps back, falls against the door and takes a breath.

“Damn,” he breathes. Then he grins.

I shove my arms through the armholes of the shirt, and glare at him. He’s laughing. Seriously? I arch my brows at him. “Beg your pardon?”

He chuckles into his closed fist, and then shakes his head. “He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He bends over at the waist, trying to catch his breath, he’s laughing that hard. I pick up a pillow and throw it at him, then sit down on the end of the bed and cross my legs. I still don’t have any panties on. And I’m too angry to care.

I just stood naked in front of this man and he’s laughing. Tears prick the backs of my lashes. “This isn’t funny,” I say.

He sits down beside me on the bed and turns my chin so that I have to face him. “I didn’t see what you said,” he tells me. His thumb touches the corner of my eye, and his brows come together in confusion. “Did Paul hurt your feelings?”

I shake my head, pinching my lips together.

He reaches over and lifts my wet hair from the collar of his shirt. “Your hair’s still wet,” he says, as he picks up a towel. I brush his hand away as he tries to dry my hair.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Stop,” I warn.

“He didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he says.

He thinks Paul hurt my feelings. What crap. Paul didn’t hurt my feelings. Logan did, when he completely ignored my offer. And he laughed.

I reach into my bag and pick up my panties, then shimmy into them. Logan looks away, and I roll my eyes. I was naked in front of him. Does he really think I care if he sees me put my panties on? I tug the blanket from the bed and glare at him for a moment, and then I open the door and head for the couch. I’ll sleep out there. It’s better than sleeping in here with a man who doesn’t want me.

Matt’s at the kitchen table with his head in his hands when I come out of the hallway. I falter and tug on the length of Logan’s shirt. He looks down at my legs and smiles. “I’ve seen more skin at the club,” he says. “You might as well be a nun.”

I sigh heavily and throw the blanket onto the edge of the couch. Then I walk into the kitchen for a cup of water. “Can I get you anything?” I ask.

He looks better today. But he still doesn’t look good. “No thanks.”

“Did you eat anything today?” I ask. Now I sound like Logan, but I can’t help it.

“I did,” he says with a nod.

“Did you keep it down?” I tilt my head and look at him.

“Some of it,” he admits.

Logan walks out of the bedroom and skids to a halt in the kitchen. He looks from Matt to me and back again. He signs something to Matt.