Page 102 of Sucker For You

And that impact, the roughness of her pulse slamming into his? It knocked something loose inside her. It broke something.

Through the deep-sea fissures of herself came a sudden surge of volcanic heat.

Heat, andanger.

She wasso angry.

She was angry with Wes Monaghan.

“I wanted to buy it myself. I wanted to buy itformyself!” She thrust a palm against his chest. He lurched back, his mouth slackening with shock. Again, she didn’t stop. She followed after him. She gripped his idiotic otter fleece with both fists, anchoring him on the sand to take her fury—and it felt good; it felt so,sogood to finally surrender to this rage, to stop fighting the riptide inside her, to batter it and herself against him instead, his solidity unbreaking under her knuckles:thud,thud. “I wanted—w-wanted—”

Damn it!

Still he didn’t break. And it did feel good, it really did. But the ricochet of her hands was infuriating too, her eyes burning, because he was safety and warmth and everything she’d ever wanted, but she couldn’t have any of it, not really, not to keep, not when he was here tonight but he’d be gone soon, sailing off into the sunset to somewhere wonderful like Crete or KomodoIsland with his boat and his laughter and his smiles and his sunshine, so she couldn’t really have him—

Wes was staring down at her, not in shock now, but in confusion, in concern.

Thud, thud, thud.

“Isabel.” He caught one of her wrists, then the other. “Why didn’t you just buy it?”

“I—”

“If you’d told me? If you’d said something? I wouldn’t have. Not if I’d known that you wanted to.”

“I didn’t—” She struggled.

He released her.

She stumbled, choking, fighting tears and holding tight to her sweet, awful anger instead of him, becausedamn you—

“No, that’s right.You didn’t tell me.” Wes raised his hands. He shook his head. He sidestepped her, striding back toward Tide Avenue. “How was I supposed to know you wanted to buy the damn thing, when you never say what you want?”

“Because that’s whateveryone elsewants! For me to be quiet! To never want anything myself, to just be—grateful.” She tracked him walking over the dunes and the horizon, tracked the flush on his neck. Tracked him leaving her, like he’d left his guitar in the Socorro Islands, maybe regretful, but always easy. Leaving, like he always left. “When I was—am—quiet, people didn’t—don’t—touch me. But just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I have nothing to say!”

“Fine.” He stopped. They collided again, sand and shadows kicking up around them. His shoulders were rigid. “What do you want to say?”

“I—”

“Tell me why you’re always denying yourself what you want, Isabel.”

“I—it’s not—”

“No. Don’t blame this on whatever attachment issues you clearly think you have.” The dying sunset lit his frown, his gaze blazing with darkness and gold. Hot patches of irritation rode high on his cheekbones through his freckles and his tan when he said, “Tell me: is it that you can’t get attached, or that you’re afraid to? Hell, you won’t even name our octopus! Are you that scared of getting close to something, or someone? Scared of wanting something. . .anything?”

He was angry. With her. That felt even better.

A brilliant fever flashed through Isabel. She volleyed back, loud and righteous, heedless of any staring beachgoers, “What do you know about it? How would you even know about self-denial?You?What would you know about not letting yourself want, because if you do—if you want something—then it matters if you can’t have it? If it’s taken away? What would you know about any of—”

“Damn it,you can have the dress right now, if it’s so important. Look, there’s Baby.” He pointed up from the beach, to his Jeep parked at the bungalow’s gate. Wes turned on his heel. “I’ll get it for you—”

She seized his arm. “Screw the dress.”

“What?”

She dug in her nails. He hissed, halting, staring.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the dress! Because what matters i-is. . .you, Wes,” and now—nowher voice broke. It shattered on his name. She couldn’t breathe. But she had to make him understand. If these next few weeks were all the time she had left with him before his MORI assignment ended, the days and hours slipping away until she faded into pale, cold silence, alone again?No. She gripped his arm harder, raisingher chin, goading herself on. “You’ve said it yourself. You never stay in one place for long. You’re always leaving: for your next assignment, or maybe just because you’re bored. Bored with Monterey. Bored with. . . me. The beach-house lease will be over soon, September’s already halfway gone, soyou’llbe gone soon. You’ll leave MORI and Monterey. Leave me, like I’m always,alwaysleft, and I—I just can’t—”