Silence. God . . . the silence. But she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I’m sorry,” he bit out roughly. “I thought this would help you.”

“Oh, no . . . I—”

He shook his head, and with his tremendous strength lifted her off his body, separating them easily. In a quick move, he set her aside, yanked his waistband back up, and reached for a clean towel. After he gave the thing to her, he settled with his back against the cupboards and put his knees up, arms balanced on the tops of them, hands hanging loose.

It was then that she noticed the gun on the floor beside where they had been. And he must have seen it at the same moment she did because he grabbed the weapon and disappeared it into the windbreaker.

Squeezing her eyes shut briefly, she cleaned up quick and redressed. Then she settled in an identical pose next to him. Unlike Isaac, however, she didn’t stare straight ahead; she looked at his profile. He was so beautiful in that male way, his face all angles and bone—but the weariness in him bothered her.

He’d lived on the edge for too long.

“How old are you really?” she asked eventually.

“Twenty-six.”

She recoiled. So that was the truth? “You seem older.”

“I feel like it.”

“I’m thirty-two.” Still more silence. “Why won’t you look at me.”

“You’ve never had a one-night stand. Until now.” Like he’d cursed her in some way.

“Well, technically, it’s been two nights with you.” As his jaw clenched, she knew that wasn’t a help. “Isaac, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Didn’t I.” He cleared his throat.

“I wanted you.”

Now he looked at her. “And you had me. God . . . you had me.” For a brief second, his eyes flared with heat again, and then he refocused on the cabinet in front of him. “But that’s it. It’s over and done with.”

Okay . . . ouch. And for a guy who seemed bitched that he’d indoctrinated her into the one-night club, you’d think his conscience would feel better if they did it a few more times.

As her sex heated again, she thought . . . they’d just see about the “over and done with” part.

“Why did you come back?” she asked.

“I never left.” As she felt her brows flare, he shrugged. “I spent all day in hiding across the street from you—and before you think I’m a stalker, I was watching the people who were—and are—watching you.”

As she blanched, she was glad for the darkness in this valley of cabinets and cupboards. Much better for him to think she was holding it together. “The white strips were put there by you, weren’t they. Your muscle shirt.”

“It was supposed to be a signal to them that I’d taken off.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”