Wren was absurdly, wonderfully round. Abundant, despite her diminutive height. She’d be soft and warm under his hands and against his body.
He wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel her.
But his proposal would impose the same old barrier between them, so he needed to keep his hands to himself. Accordingly, he set his small suitcase on the wooden floor and lowered the handle, then folded his arms across his chest.
Wren had changed into one of those faded, oversized tees she used as nightgowns, and her bare legs appeared especially pale against the darkness of the living room. The only light filtered in from the bedroom, where she’d apparently turned on a lamp.
They were alone in her house at night. Her bed might be rumpled. Welcoming.
He caught himself studying her legs again, and quickly glanced away.
They stood there in her small, dim apartment, staring at each other for a long minute. He blinked first, because of course he blinked first. Lauren was a fucking machine. A Terminator, as he’d once informed Marcus, albeit a very short one.
Finally, as if on cue, they spoke at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” they both said, and frowned at one another.
Then, in unison once more, “You shouldn’t be sorry.”
More frowning.
“You first,” they both said, and Alex couldn’t help it.
He laughed until his eyes were wet again, and the crushing weight in his chest had lessened enough for him to draw something near a full breath.
When he calmed, there was still no levity in her expression or those lovely eyes. Then again, she hadn’t heard either his apology or his plan yet, so he wouldn’t count that as defeat.
“Because I’m nothing if not a gentleman”—he polished an imaginary monocle—“please speak first. While keeping in mind that if you apologize for anything, I may have to murder you. Thus proving my point: You shouldn’t let strange men into your apartment.”
Not even a lip twitch. Dammit.
“Murder me as necessary, but I need to say it.” Her voice was gravelly, hoarse, and entirely determined. “I’m so sorry you endangered your career because of an insult to me. As soon as I understood that was even a possibility, I should have resigned and told Ron to find you a new companion.”
If she took one of those Which Gods of the Gates Character Are You? quizzes, she’d definitely be Atlas, the poor bastard. No question about it.
“Jesus Christ, Wren.” He heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Why are you so determined to be a martyr? I’m not sorry I caused problems for myself. I’m sorry I caused problems for you. Along with a few other people, but they’re not my priority right now. You are.”
Her brow furrowed even further, which he hadn’t thought physically possible. “What do you mean?”
“You needed time before deciding where to work next, and you needed money to buy you that time.” He hung his head. “When I lost my temper at Ron, I took away your extra time and income, and I apologize. You have every right to be angry with me.”
She held up a palm, her expression twisting in distress. “You were trying to avenge me, Alex. Because you were upset on my behalf. How in the world could I be angry at you for that?”
God, he wanted to roll his eyes so damn much. But he couldn’t, not with her obvious confusion and remorse and … whatever else was carving deep lines into those distinctive features.
“Lauren, you’re fucking terrible at being angry at other people for mistreating you or overlooking your interests.” A home truth, and one he hoped she understood. “Your lack of anger does not reliably indicate a lack of wrong done to you.”
She blinked those gorgeous eyes up at him, looking lost.
Whatever. They’d have plenty of time for informational lectures soon enough.
“Anyway, the good news is that I’m here to right this particular wrong.” He beamed at her, more certain than ever that he could fix everything. “I have a plan.”
“Oh, shit,” she muttered.
Ignoring that, he carried on. “The production used to provide a virtual assistant for me, given my organizational issues. In Ron’s email, he said—”
“Wait.” She held up a hand, somehow looking even guiltier. He could only assume it was a Guinness world record of some sort. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask this right away. What’s happening? What did Ron and R.J. do?”
“According to my agent and lawyer, I should be able to avoid financial retaliation and a lawsuit. That said, I’m disinvited from upcoming publicity events and forbidden to comment on the show, and both you and my virtual PA are fired.” The other, non-Gates-related consequences didn’t need to be discussed now. Or, preferably, ever. “Which brings me to my brilliant pl—”