I wasn’t about to argue. I slathered on the lotion as best I could. It was cool, at least, and didn’t stink. There was that. All the stuff Cassandra used stank of dead flowers or fake fruits.

Emma made another noise of annoyance and stepped in front of me. Despite her obvious disgust in my apparently inadequate skin-care regimen, her eyes were fond as she peered up at me.

“You have streaks of it everywhere,” she admonished before frowning. “You’re too tall.”

You’re just right.

“You’ll have to blame my parents on that one, Em.”

The corners of her lips curled.

“Bend down, will you?” She was already reaching up for me.

Rendered a deer in headlights, I did as she asked, my face slack, my gaze stuck on hers. With gentle but deft movements, she ran the pads of her fingers over my skin, along the bridge of my nose, down the sides of my cheeks. Biting back a groan, I lowered my lids and breathed deeply. They were simple touches, nothing more than her smearing sunscreen on me. And it felt so good I wanted to purr or whimper. Something. Anything to get her to keep doing it.

But she stopped, done with her task. Leaving me to straighten and get my shit together.

“There.” She put on her sunglasses. “Now we’re ready.”

Yep, I wanted to kiss her. “Great. My skin feels safer already.”

“I am immune to your sarcasm, honey pie.”

I’d had nicknames foisted on me my entire life. Some were awful, some funny. What I hadn’t felt until now was pleasure from hearing one. Emma calling me honey pie sent a ping of pleasure straight into my chest every time. But it was tempered with disappointment today.

Because she’d stopped calling me Brick when she teased. I knew it was a result of my self-pitying rant yesterday that I was a washed-up athlete. Her consideration chafed. It shouldn’t have, but it did. I wanted her to feel free and easy with me. But I’d smashed the foundation of our budding . . . whatever it was. I could blame only myself. I would rebuild it, though. It had become imperative to me in ways I didn’t really want to examine.

Heading out, we set a steady pace. Emma was in good shape, and I had to slow my usual stride only by a little. The path moved upward through sweet-smelling grass and rustling trees. We didn’t speak but kept walking in easy silence. I liked that about Emma; sure, she would give me shit without hesitation, but it was never cruel, and she didn’t feel the need to fill silences when she didn’t have anything to say.

We reached a stream fed by water meandering down the mountain. The stream was a low trickle right now, but Emma slowed to admire it. With a sunny smile, she glanced my way. “Thank you for inviting me here. I needed this.”

I was beginning to realize I’d take her anywhere she wanted. Whatever she needed, I’d do my best to provide. It was unsettling as hell, but some things weren’t worth fighting against.

Mamie had it right; I was here. So was Emma. And the fact was I wanted to be around her, whether it was a smart idea or not. She took me outside myself, to a place where every thought wasn’t mired in rage or regret. I was under no illusions that Emma Maron could fix me; no one could do that. But I enjoyed the moments I had within her orbit, and that was more than I’d had before she fell into my life. Even when I’d been playing, I’d never had this level of connection with a person.

I managed a mumbled “Welcome,” but she was off again, and I followed. We didn’t speak again until an hour later when we reached a clearing that overlooked the valley. A fine sheen of sweat glittered on Emma’s skin as she raised her face to the sun and let the breeze wash over her.

I did the same and pulled off my shirt to fully feel it. The sound of Emma’s barely concealed gurgle of surprise nearly brought a smile to my mouth, but I kept my eyes closed and my expression neutral. I hadn’t thought much about it when I’d stripped my shirt. But she liked what she saw. I’d known this when I’d confronted her after she watched me swim naked. It had been written all over her expressive face then.

I felt her gaze like a hot brand now, appreciating me. I may have milked it a little, flexing my pecs and abs before stretching my arms out overhead.

“Careful,” came her bland voice. “You might tweak a nerve stretching like that.”

I let my arms drop and gave her a baleful look. “You calling me an old man, Snoopy?”

“I’m calling you a show-off, honey pie,” she countered, then paid me back in full by bending over to touch her toes, that perfect peach of an ass aimed my way.

Hell.

She bounced just enough to make my dick perk up. Cursing, I turned to put my shirt on and then dug into the pack as she huffed out a light laugh.

“You’re an evil woman, Em.” I handed her a bottle of water.

She grinned. “You had it coming, Lucian.”

“Yes, I did.” I found myself smiling, despite the ache of desire in my lower gut. I liked Emma, but I loved the way she teased. It reminded me of the camaraderie I’d had with my guys, but better. I’d never wanted to haul any of my teammates onto my lap and devour their mouths. The mix of needful lust and fun was strangely intoxicating.

I pulled out another water and drank deep before offering her an energy bar. We found a wide, smooth boulder to sit on in the shade and drank the rest of our water. Emma drew her knees close to her chest and rested her arms on them. Her profile softened with contentment.

Which meant I had to ruin it.

“I’m sorry for scaring you yesterday.”

Emma stiffened, and I silently cursed myself for saying anything. But then she tilted her head my way. Her calm blue eyes moved over my face, as though assessing. I held myself still, pretending I didn’t itch to hop off the damn rock.

“You didn’t scare me,” she said softly, carefully. “Not really.”

But I had. I’d been there. I’d seen her fear. “I’m . . . loud when I lose my temper,” I said, feeling like an asshole. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with this woman at all. “I used to be . . .” Better. Whole. “Calmer. Anyway, it was unforgivable and I—”

Her hand landed on my forearm, warm and steady.

“Lucian. Don’t. You have no reason to apologize. We were arguing. It happens.”

“But—”

“My dad hit.”

Whatever I had planned to say came to a screeching halt, a red mist moving over my gaze. She’d been hit. My fists curled. I wanted . . . fuck. I wanted to hug her. Hold her.