He pulled her into his arms and spun her away from the galley, making it onto the stairs down to his stateroom before he got distracted again and ended up backing her against the wall, kissing both of them into a sexual haze.

Her leg wrapped round his hips, she tried again. “When the fight with the Russians was over and you hugged me, I said I loved you.”

“I heard. And I—”

She cut him off before he could tell her he loved her back, pressing her hand over his mouth and speaking quickly. “It was just my exhaustion and relief and everything else I’d been through talking.”

He froze. Pulled his head away from her hand to stare down at her in the dim passageway. So this is breakup sex?

She was denying that she loved him? Panic ripped through him, and he had to take several deep breaths to banish it. If he was going to make this right, if he was going to have to fight for his woman, he had to keep his wits about him.

“No, it wasn’t just your exhaustion or relief talking,” he said quietly.

“Of course it was. I was well beyond the limits of my endurance. I wasn’t thinking. It just popped out.”

“Truth has a way of doing that.” His composure was fraying quickly. Must keep his head together and make her see reason. And the only way to do that was to stay calm. Be logical.

“But I wasn’t in my right mind,” she disagreed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

He swept her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way down the stairs, depositing her on her feet beside his bed. He reached around behind her to pop open her bra hooks. The lace dropped away from her perfectly shaped breasts, which were possibly the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Desperation to make up for his colossal screwup coursed through him.

He hooked his index fingers under the bra straps and slipped them down her arms, dropping the garment to the floor. He kissed her deeply, pouring all of his feelings for her into that kiss. Trying to show her how he felt about her by worshipping her mouth, hell, worshipping all of her—body, mind, and soul. He relished the light peppermint taste of her, fresh and sweet. His head spun with the soft scent of her, the feel of her in his hands, the way her body fit against his. God. Now he was the one whose train of thought blew through his fingers and drifted away.

At length, she lifted her mouth away from his. “It didn’t mean anything either time,” she said woodenly. “It was stress talking—”

He cut across her words. “I’m going to have to call bullshit on that.”

“What?” She pushed at his chest, and he stepped back from her.