The tips of his fingers trace my cheek, and I find myself leaning forward. Good Lord, I think I’ll want him forever.

His hand cups my jaw, holding me. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Upstairs. To his bed. Or mine. And then . . .

The thought of tomorrow has me moving back, fumbling to my feet.

Macon’s gaze follows my body, a smile still in his eyes. “Eager. I like it. You know, if I’d have known how agreeable you’d be after a kiss, I’d have kissed you in high school.”

He sounds so much like the Macon of old, the one who used to taunt me, that my skin grows cold. “To shut me up, huh.”

Macon rises more slowly than I did but much more gracefully. “You gotta admit, kissing is better than fighting.”

It’s so easy for him to brush off the past. I can only assume it’s because our shared past didn’t leave scars on him like it did on me. I don’t know how to feel about that. “That was a mistake.”

He blinks, his body rocking back on his heels. “A mistake.”

Panic claws up my throat. I was practically humping Macon on the sand. What the hell was I thinking? “An aberration—a small flight from reality.”

“I get the picture,” he cuts in irritably. “And that is bullshit.” He pushes a hand over his wet hair. “It was fucking perfect. Right up until you decided to run from this.”

Again, he makes it sound so easy. He, who has the least to lose. Then again, everything has come easily to Macon. He expects the world to fall right in his lap. I’m just another fool for him.

My chest grows tight, and words fly from my mouth. “I don’t even know what this”—I wave my hand between us—“is.”

His lips pinch. “About fifteen years in the making by my count.”

“Fifteen years? Are you saying you liked me back then? Because I won’t believe that.”

A scowl darkens his features, and he sets his hands low on his lean hips. “I wasn’t mooning over you, if that’s what you’re asking. But there was always something, Delilah. I don’t know what to name it. Not love. Not hate. But something. Like an itch that wouldn’t abate. You were always there, under my skin.”

Under my skin. That was the truth of it. “So what, now you want to scratch that itch with sex?”

He laughs without humor. “You think this is just about sex? You think if we fuck that this”—he copies me and waves his hand—“is going to go away? Think again, sweetheart.”

The smarmy tone has me seeing red.

“Oh, you make me so . . . so mad!”

“And why is that?” He takes a step closer. “Why do I make you mad, Delilah?”

“Because you always do! You always have.”

Oddly, this seems to calm him, but he doesn’t let up, his tone staying hard and insistent. “Do you hate me now?”

“No.” There’s a weight on my chest, and he’s making it heavier, agitating my blood.

“Then why do I make you mad?” The bastard’s gaze is relentless, too calm and practical.

“I don’t know!” But it’s a lie.

And he knows it too. “Maybe it’s because you want me as much as I want you.”

I stare back at him, my lips puffy and sore from his kisses, my sex still slick and tender.

His shoulders set in a line of pure stubbornness. “Because I do. In case that wasn’t perfectly clear.” He gestures toward his pants and the impressive bulge that has only gone down slightly. “I want you. I’ve been wanting you since you walked into my office with those fuck-off heels and red lips. And I’m not too proud to admit it.”

Unlike me, his tone implies.

“Wanting and having are two different things. I work for you. No, scratch that, I’m working off a debt to you—”

“I’ve said that I don’t want this debt between us anymore.” He throws up his arms in frustration. “I regretted agreeing to it as soon as the words were out of my mouth. But seeing you again . . . for the first time in years, I felt something other than being utterly fucking numb, and I pushed my doubts away. Because it meant having you around again, even if it was under shitty circumstances.”

“Are you saying you only agreed because you wanted me under your thumb?”

He snorts. “Don’t give me that self-righteous look when that’s exactly how you sold the proposition. Did I take advantage? Yeah, I did. But it was never about control or payback. It was the only way I knew I could be close to you. We parted with so much hate and hurt between us. I wanted a chance to get to know who you are now. For me to show you who I am.” Macon leans close, his breath heated, his gaze a dark challenge. “I’m not lying about my motives or the way I feel. Question is, why are you?”