Page 88 of Sin for You

“I’m not.” I was.

He stopped and so did I. He shoved his fingers through his hair. “So you want to talk in the hall?”

No, I didn’t want to talk at all. “Why not?”

He frowned again harder. “Fuck, baby, have you been crying?”

He sounded as horrified as I felt being caught out looking all puffy and red-faced after ugly crying for the last thirty minutes.

Baby.

I crossed my arms. Hearing him say baby made my knees go weak. “I’m watching The Notebook.”

That didn’t seem to take away the concern. He looked like he was seconds away from tugging me into his arms. No way could I let that happen. I quickly wiped my eyes and retreated to the kitchen to get a drink of water I didn’t need. Really, I planned on using the kitchen island as a barrier.

He followed me, still watching me closely. I fussed around at the kitchen sink, straightening the salt and pepper shakers on the island, folding and unfolding the dish towel, anything but look at him.

“Quinn?”

“Hmm?”

“Sweets, look at me.”

Dammit. I let my eyes flick up to his for a moment, afraid he’d see just how hurt—God, conflicted—I was. I never wanted him to see that.

“You handed in your notice.”

That’s why he was here? “Yes. It’s time to go home.”

Bull’s Adam’s apple bulged like he’d swallowed thickly. “Home? Your home’s here.”

“It’s time I went back to Portland.”

“You sure about that?”

God, why was he doing this? He knew the way it had to be. “Yes.”

He took a step to the side, like he was about to round the island and come after me, so I did the same.

He cursed under his breath and stopped. “I talked to Dane today,” he said, changing the subject suddenly.

“Did you?”

“He said you’ve been staying out at the ranch a lot.”

I shrugged.

“He said you told Cassy you were nursing a…a broken heart,” he said gently.

Humiliation washed through me, instantly darkening my face. I had. I’d said that. I hadn’t meant it, though—not really, right? That wasn’t what I was feeling. It couldn’t be. My belly squirmed. “You know what happened with Bevan,” I lied.

“It has nothing to do with that fucker,” he said, calling my bluff.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth.”

I felt cornered. “I don’t owe you that, Bull. My feelings are my own.”