Hunter gripped her shoulders and physically peeled her off him.
It wasn't gentle. His fingers dug into her skin, creating space, creating air between them. He looked at her with wild, frantic eyes.
"Stop it," he hissed. "Just stop."
He turned his back to her, running a hand through his hair. He walked to the desk, putting the heavy mahogany between them.
"You don't get to do this," he said, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "You don't get to storm in here, break into my house, and hug me like you... like you care. It's cruel, Kaycee. Even for you."
"I'm not being cruel," Kaycee pleaded, leaning over the desk. "I'm trying to fix this."
"Fix what?" He slammed his hand on the desk. "There is nothing to fix! You hate me. You've made that abundantly clear for the last three years. You think I'm boring, controlling, and 'emotionally constipated,' I believe was the term."
Kaycee winced. She had said that. At a gala. In front of his mother.
"I was wrong," she said. "I was stupid and I was wrong."
Hunter stared at her. He looked like a man trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. He looked at her dress-the simple black silk, not the flashy distraction she usually wore. He looked at her face-clean, bare, vulnerable.
"Who put you up to this?" he asked quietly. "Is it your father? Is he threatening to cut you off if you don't marry me?"
"No one put me up to this."
She walked around the desk. Hunter moved back until he hit the bookshelf. He was trapped.
"I'm staying," she said. "I'm not leaving tonight."
Hunter's eyes widened. "You can't stay here."
"Why not? We're engaged. It's not improper."
"It's not about propriety!" He laughed, a desperate sound. "It's about my sanity, Kaycee! I can't... I can't have you in this house, smelling like that, looking like that, and pretending to want me. It will kill me."
The raw honesty of his words took her breath away. He loved her so much it hurt him physically.
"I'm not pretending," she said softly. She reached out and took his hand. His fingers were cold.
"Hunt," she said.
His whole body shuddered. She hadn't called him that since they were teenagers.
He looked down at their joined hands. He didn't pull away this time. He looked defeated.
"If you stay," he said hoarsely, "you stay in the guest room. And you lock the door. Because I don't trust myself. And I certainly don't trust you."
"I'll sleep in the master bedroom," she countered.
"No."
"Yes. It's the only bed with the silk sheets I like."
Hunter closed his eyes. "Fine. Take the master. I'll take the guest room."
He pulled his hand away from hers as if he'd been burned.
"I need a shower," he muttered. "A cold one."
He brushed past her, walking fast, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Kaycee watched him go. She heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs, then the slam of a door down the hall.
She let out a long, shaky breath and leaned against the bookshelf. Her legs felt like jelly.
She had survived the first encounter. He hadn't thrown her out.
She walked up the grand staircase, trailing her hand along the banister. She found the master bedroom easily. It was stark, masculine, decorated in shades of gray and navy. But the bed was huge.
She crawled into it, burying her face in the pillow. It smelled of him. Cedar and rain.
Down the hall, she heard the pipes groan as the shower turned on. She imagined him standing under the freezing water, trying to wash away the confusion she had brought into his life.
"I'm going to make it up to you, Hunt," she whispered into the darkness. "I promise."
