Slowly, as though he were a rabid dog about to attack—great analogy, Harrison—she set her notebook aside. “I meant all of that. And although you repeatedly assure me I am wrong, I am still afraid you do not understand.”

“A lot of women have said a lot of things, trying to tie me down, babe. You’re not the first to play hard to get.” The moment the words left his mouth, he had the distinct feeling he’d made a complete ass of himself. “You’re not playing, are you?”

“And yet you did not believe me the first one hundred times I said it.” She laughed softly. “I am not trying to trick you or trap you. I like you. You are funny and good in bed. But there honestly is not room in my life for a relationship.”

“Mine, either,” he agreed emphatically. If this was the outcome he wanted, why did it feel as if he was losing a very important game in the final quarter?

With a roll of her eyes, she went back to her inventory. “No, you are tied up in your own obligations.”

“Why did you say it like that?” He went to the counter and pulled himself up to sit on the end.

“Count these,” she instructed, handing him a neatly tied bundle of candles. “There should be seven.”

He didn’t bother to look at them before tossing them aside. “You think I’m not too busy with other things for a relationship?”

With a heavy sigh, she braced her arms against the counter and hung her head. “Do you forget I have animal instincts? Do you think I cannot sense what you are feeling when you are inside of me?”

Her blunt words drew graphic pictures in his brain. “I know that when we’re…I know I feel nothing from you.”

“You are holding on to guilt I cannot fathom. Whoever you lost, you cared for them very much. But the only thing standing between you and another love is your unwillingness to let the past die.” She didn’t answer his accusation.

He rarely let himself get angry. It seemed the last few days he’d found compelling reasons to allow that part of him to slide. “Why don’t I feel anything from you?”

“Because there is nothing to feel.” The words came quickly, as though they were rehearsed.

Or used often.

Cold fury coiled in his gut. He jumped down and faced her, his hands balled to fists in his sides. As long as his nails bit into his palms, as long as that pain kept him aware of his body, he wouldn’t be tempted to take his anger out on her physically. “Was this all a trick?”

“What?” Confusion crossed her face.