Emma pulled back, as if stung, a frown forming between her brows. “Messing around.”

“Well, I won’t put it like that. She’s my grandmother. But I’ll let her know it isn’t serious.”

The tiny line between her brows deepened. “Right. Not serious.”

Fuck. This was going south and fast. But I couldn’t seem to stop it. Or shut the hell up.

I rubbed my hands over her skin, trying to soothe her even as I panicked. “You’ve known from the beginning I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I didn’t plan this. I wasn’t expecting . . . you.”

“I wasn’t expecting you either. I thought I’d go on vacation, read some scripts, and catch up on my sleep.”

My hands couldn’t settle. They kept moving over her satiny skin like it might be my last chance to feel her. And it just might. Because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “That’s the thing, Em. You’re on vacation. How long are you even staying?”

Emma slid away. I felt the loss immediately, my body growing cold. I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. Every selfish cell in my tightly wound body protested.

Still frowning, she leaned against the kitchen counter. “I don’t know. A month, maybe. Amalie hasn’t given me a deadline.”

“You don’t need one. Jesus, Em, I’m not trying to run you off. I’m trying to point out that it isn’t serious for either of us.”

“Again with serious. As if the very idea is horrific.”

“Well . . .” Shit. Shut it, Oz.

Her glare became piercing. “Is this because I said the dreaded L word?”

“What? No.” Maybe. Fuck.

“I only meant it in terms of romance and idealism,” she went on, defensive and flushed.

“I know that. I’m not freaking out because you uttered lo—the L word.”

She snorted loudly. “You can’t even say it.”

“Neither can you,” I pointed out, then immediately flinched, knowing I sounded like a petulant ass. Her repressive look said she agreed.

“Shit. It’s not that it’s . . .” I ran a hand over my mouth, feeling the stubble of my evening beard growth. “Honestly, honey, I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying. Other than you’re leaving, I’m . . . I don’t know anything about relationships—”

“You were engaged,” she said with some asperity. “I think you know a little bit about the process.”

“That’s the worst part about it. When she left, I realized I didn’t do shit in that relationship. She took care of everything like she was . . .” I lifted a hand, struggling. “A hostess, someone there to make sure I never suffered a moment of discomfort.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m not proud of it. I’m ashamed I didn’t notice that’s how it was until it was over.”

Cassandra’s voice flickered through my mind: I thought you were more than hockey, Oz. I see now that you weren’t.

I didn’t want to think about Cassandra. Not with Emma staring at me with hurt in her eyes. It was a blow to see her disappointment. But I couldn’t lie to Emma. “I don’t want a repeat of that.”

“Good, because you wouldn’t get that with me.”

“Believe me, Snoop; I know. Thing is, I am pretty much a walking wreck right now. I make mistakes all the time.”

God, it was as though I’d slapped her. Emma leaned away from me like she needed to put as much distance as she could between us. “You regret what we did.”

“No! Fuck, no.” I reached for her, but the hard look on her face made me hesitate. “I want you, Emma. More than I’ve wanted any woman. And that’s the problem. If we have each other, it will be intense. And you might expect . . . forever.”

Slowly she nodded, but it was as if she wasn’t really there. Some part of her had retreated in a way I hadn’t seen before. I hated it.

“You’re right,” she said. “Not about forever. I’m not sitting here waiting for you to profess your undying love or anything. But I did expect more than ‘just messing around.’” She huffed out a flat, pained laugh. “I thought that we’d . . . I don’t know, at least try for something real.”

“Em . . .”

“But that’s on me. I’m always building castles in the air, only to find out there’s nothing solid to rely on.”

Laid out in those stark terms, I couldn’t disagree. Hell, it was what I’d been trying to articulate. Didn’t stop the disappointment from eating at my gut. I was an idiot for talking about it. I should have taken her to bed and worried about the particulars later.

And because I was a guy, a greedy-ass moron who had just realized his mistake, I made an even bigger one. “We could still—”

“Fool around?” she supplied, lips pursing. “Screw each other, knowing it’s not going anywhere.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Shit. Shut up, fuckwit. But I didn’t. “Sex doesn’t have to mean everything.”