He let go immediately and she backed off his lap and onto her feet. Which brought the backs of her legs against the coffee table. She stumbled, knocking all the Eden printouts to the floor, her butt hitting the hard wood.

Hard wood, Sokolov? Really? He wanted to groan again, from frustration, confusion, irritation with himself. Because he was harder than any wood on the planet.

“Mercy.” His voice was low and gruff. Aroused as hell.

She dropped her chin to her chest, sending her hair flowing over her face like a curtain. She didn’t answer him. Didn’t look up.

His heart sank. “Mercy, please. Look at me.” He was afraid to touch her, afraid he’d do the wrong thing. “Please.”

She shook her head, her expression hidden behind the fall of hair. “I’ll go now. I’m . . . sorry.”

“No.” The single word cracked in the air between them, the command more desperate than she had been. “Please. Mercy, you have to know that I want you. You have to know that.”

She huffed a bitter little laugh. “It’s not your job to make me feel better, Rafe. I was too pushy. I get it.” She stood, spinning on her heel to head for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mercy.” He softened his voice. “Don’t go. Please.”

She stopped walking but didn’t turn to look at him. “This was stupid. I was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“You are not stupid. You’re—” He cut himself off, because he was about to make things worse.

She turned slowly. “I’m what?”

He swallowed hard. Go big or go home. “Everything I want.”

She lifted her chin, a frown creasing her brow. “Then why did you stop?”

He patted the sofa cushion. “Come back. Please.” He tried to smile, but he was pretty sure he didn’t pull it off. “Don’t make me drop to my knees. I might never get up.”

Her mouth quirked so briefly that he might have missed it if he hadn’t been staring at her, willing her to return to him. He held his breath until she retraced her steps, dropping onto the sofa, but at the far end, not next to him.

But she was still here.

“I stopped because . . . it felt like you were afraid.”

“I was,” she said sarcastically. “That I’d get rejected. I’ll live, Rafe.”

Wow. He wasn’t sure how to fix this. “You think I’m rejecting you? That I’m not interested?”

She shrugged. “You’re the one who stopped.”

“You think I’m lying? That I don’t want you? That’s the most ridiculous thing.” He leaned sideways until he caught her gaze. “Touch me. Know that I’m telling the truth.”

Her chin dipped again, but this time because she was studying his body. Closely. He pressed the flat of his hand against his cock to give himself some relief.

She exhaled quietly. “Then why?”

“Because . . .” He shook his head. “Was this why you came down here? You wanted to make out? I don’t know what you want, Mercy, and I got the definite impression that you didn’t, either.”