“I don’t know really. I just know that I’m complicated. I’m super independent in life, and in business, to the point where it drove my exes crazy. And then when it came to romance I’ve been told I’m too needy. I’m a messy paradox of a woman and it’s going to take a certain guy who can deal with all that. Not a one-night-stander. I need certainty in the future. I’ve been hurt before and I need to know going in that a guy is the right guy, that we’ll last, and that he won’t hurt me.”

His study of me continued in silence for a moment and then finally he said, “I should probably be running for the door right now.”

“Yes, you should.”

His slow, wicked smile made my insides quiver. “Strangely I don’t want to. I want to be your friend, Rain.”

To my annoyance, disappointment rammed into me gut. Of course he would change his tune after hearing about my emotional dysfunction. And that’s what I wanted, right?

Right?

WRONG!

I realized then that I didn’t want to be just friends with Craig but I also didn’t want to be in a relationship with someone who could hurt me, and that meant that I didn’t want him in my life at all.

“I don’t think we should be friends.”

He chuckled. “You know you have a habit of bruising my ego.”

I winced. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know. And yet still you do. But no matter.” He grinned boyishly. “I have every intention of changing your mind.”

Craig

Craig’s eyes were glued to Rain’s fantastic arse as she walked away from him and into the ladies’ toilets. He found himself smiling at what she was wearing. A short-sleeved black shirt that was buttoned all the way up to its little collar at her neck. The shirt was tight-fitting and tucked into a high-waist pencil skirt that followed the curve of her hips. Its hemline was modest and tight around her calves, forcing her to sashay in her high-heeled dark green shoes.

She had hardly any skin on show and yet it was the sexiest fucking outfit he’d ever seen in his life. Her feminine 1940s’ bombshell style was starting to become one of his favorite things about her.

And there were lots of favorite things to choose from.

A member of the coffeehouse staff came over to clear their table. “Can we have another Americano and . . .” He peered at Rain’s cup trying to work out what she’d been drinking.

“Green tea,” the guy supplied.

Craig eyed him. “Good memory.”

“She’s kind of memorable.” He shot him a grin.

Craig scowled at him.

Rain doesn’t have to worry about any lack of possessiveness on my part.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been pissed off about another guy thinking of Rain in a sexual way. Of course men would think of her sexually. She was beautiful. But Craig didn’t want to see it. Last weekend at the bar, when she was flirting with that arsehole, and that arsehole was touching her, Craig felt like he was going to come out of his skin. He’d never felt such an overwhelming urge to lay claim to a woman, to metaphorically piss around her so no other bastard would come near her.

She’s mine.

That fierce thought had entered his mind last Saturday as he’d watched her flirt with Angus, scorching his blood with their intrinsic sense of rightness. That’s why he’d followed her to the restrooms. He couldn’t stop himself. He’d never been so pissed off at a woman in his life before, and yet so desperate to have her in his arms.

Finally, Craig understood from experience why Braden Carmichael had looked at him like he wanted to deck him for the first few months of his relationship with Joss. If Craig had had to watch Rain kiss Angus like Braden had had to watch him kiss Joss . . .

For the first time ever he felt a little guilty about the whole incident with Joss.

Not that he’d ever admit that to Braden of course.

Strangely he found himself in a similar situation to Braden—wanting a woman who stubbornly refused to let him in.

And even after Rain’s attempt to scare him off (and he bloody well knew that it was an attempt to scare him off), Craig had no intention of going anywhere.

Honestly . . . aye, her warning about her craving for affection at once worried him and motivated him. Right now he was absolutely sure he was up to the challenge of showering Rain Alexander with affection.

However, Craig wasn’t a psychic. He didn’t know if they had a future or not. How could he? And he didn’t know if he’d ever hurt her or if she’d ever hurt him. All he knew was that he would never intentionally hurt her. The feelings she inspired in him—tenderness, thrill, lust, possessiveness—meant something. No woman had ever inspired this desperation, this mounting need to be around her, with her, and, yes, inside her. He liked to think he was a smart man, and that a smart man wouldn’t run away from this kind of extraordinary. A smart man would stick around and fight for it. Even if he couldn’t promise a happily ever after.

But what man could promise such a thing?

Frustrated, Craig practically growled under his breath. The problem was he had two things working against him: Rain’s preoccupation with Angus, and her bloody romantic nature. Craig had to divert her attention from the whole revenge scheme, and he also had to convince her that there was being romantic and then there was being impossible. He wouldn’t ask her to change her romantic nature—he actually found it fucking adorable considering how straightforward and businesslike she could be—but he would ask her to see sense. No one knew what the future held. You just had to take what you had right now and make the best of it. He could offer her that. He could offer her everything she was asking for and a certainty that what was between them was worth exploring. But he couldn’t promise the certainty of their future together and he didn’t think that made him a bad guy. It just made him a realist.