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Linnea looks at me with a brow lifted. “It seemed like a big deal to you.”
“Itisa big deal.”
“Why?” she asks, tipping her chin up and meeting my gaze directly. “I can use the tub and take a bath. You can have the shower.”
I cross to the man, peel off some bills and hand him his tip. “Thank you. I’ve got it from here.”
He gives us both a nod and slips out the door.
I turn to face Linnea, deciding to be completely up front about our situation. If I lay it all out, maybe she’ll realize that this trip is going to be tough, and we need to keep our distance.
“Sharing a bathroom is more intimate than we should probably be. It means people walking around in towels and things.”
She rolls her eyes.
I lift a brow.
“We can always dress inside the bathroom. They're enormous.” She turns away and grabs the handle of one suitcase in each hand and starts toward one of the bedrooms. “But don’t worry, Jonah. I’m a big girl. I know how to keep my hands to myself. You don’t have to worry about me trying to sneak a peek or throwing myself at you.”
Her words take a moment to sink in, but when they do, I do the one thing I absolutely should not do.
I reach out and touch her.
I step forward and grasp her arm, pulling her to a stop and turning her. “What?”
“I’m just…” She presses her lips together and I, of course, have to look.
Those damned lips haunt me.
“I’m sorry,” she says, making my eyes bounce back to hers. “I’m sorry for your birthday. I hate that it’s ruined our friendship. I hate that so much. Ipromiseit will not be a problem while we’re here.”
Fuck. Our friendship. She thinks that she did something wrong. “Linnea?—”
“And I hate when you call me Linnea.”
“That’s your name.”
“But you say it differently than other people do.”
“I do?”
I do. I know what she means. I just didn’t realize it was so obvious.
“You do. And I know that you’ve been trying to avoid me because of how I acted on your birthday. But I promise you, even if I’m inexperienced in how these things go, I am a mature woman who is very intelligent. I understand that you don’t want that to happen again. Message received. No worries. I can control myself.”
I stare into the big green eyes that I have been trying to avoid for weeks.
Then my gaze drops to the mouth, that, despite trying to avoid it in real life, I have dreamed about every night.
“Duchess,” I say, my voice husky and low. “What do you think happened in that kitchen, exactly?”
She hasn’t tried to pull away from me, and now the tip of her pink tongue darts out to wet the lips that I have imagined doing very inappropriate things to.
I force myself to look back into her eyes. “Answer me.”
It is clear that we are not on the same page. And we need to get there. This trip will be torturous for me, but I refuse to make it uncomfortable for her. Or worse, painful.
What she said has me sure that she absolutely does not understand my reaction in the kitchen a month ago, and though I am opening a gigantic can of worms, I cannot let her have a mistaken impression of what went on that night.