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  He’d known, hadn’t he, Noah reminded himself. He’d known he wasn’t her type. What the hell had he been thinking to put himself out there, telling her how he’d crashed, how he hadn’t had sex in all that time…

  Why didn’t he just rip out his heart and put it on the highway to be run over? Might have been less painful—

  “Noah, please.”

  He kept walking. For sanity’s sake—if there was even any left—he had to. He was going to feed her, get her to the spare bedroom, say good night, and walk away.

  Walking away was the key here.

  “Noah.”

  Probably he’d been a pity fuck. Yeah, that sucked. Or maybe she’d been just trying to thank him. After all, she was extremely polite, even while hijacking him with a pen, she’d been extremely polite.

  That sucked even worse.

  Grabbing his arm, she pulled him back around with surprising strength for a little thing, and then stared up at him, hands on his arms. He could have moved away; hell, he should move away, but there was something so damn compelling about those baby blues he’d once thought he could happily drown in.

  His mistake. “Eat,” he said, and because he knew she wouldn’t unless he did, he pulled out a plate and opened the pizza box. He dumped a piece on the plate. Then when she just looked at it, probably calculating the carbs and fat content in her head, he sighed and loaded it with salad as well. “There’s ranch dressing.”

  She slid onto one of his barstools. “No thanks.”

  He thought of his refrigerator, which probably had beer, maybe a few apples and some questionable leftover Thai. “I don’t have any other kinds.”

  “Plain is fine.” She picked up a piece of lettuce and stuck it in her mouth. “I like it this way.”

  He shook his head, and forgoing a plate for himself, he grabbed a piece of pizza and took a large bite, watching her as he, against his better judgment, sat on the barstool right next to her.

  She took a knife from his counter, and cut a bite from her pizza. And then ate it with the fork.

  Pizza with a fork.

  But then she pushed around the next bite, and he sighed. “What’s the matter?”

  “I was trying to talk to you.”

  Yeah. To tell him he wasn’t her type. “And we have to talk before you eat?”

  “Yes.”

  With another sigh, he took a plate after all and set down his pizza. Fine. She could rip his heart out now, and he’d eat afterward. “If we talk, then you’ll eat?”

  “Everything on my plate,” she promised. “Girl Scout’s honor.”

  “You were a Girl Scout?”

  Her slight amusement vanished. “No. I was a daddy’s girl.”

  And look how well that had turned out for her.

  “Look, I really do promise to eat,” she said. “Believe me, contrary to popular belief—” Her voice came a little tight now. “I’m not a silly socialite. I know I need my strength for Mexico. Where you’re not taking me, by the way.”

  They’d see about that. Pushing back from the counter, he gestured her to go ahead, talk.

  While he braced himself for the invisible blows that would hurt a hell of a lot more than anything in recent memory, because he’d alway closed himself off to hurt.

  Too bad he’d been too stupid to keep himself closed off, or this, too, could have been avoided. In fact, if he’d just listened to Shayne and gone out with him instead of heading to Mammoth, none of this would have happened. He’d be just fine.

  Of course, Bailey wouldn’t be fine. She’d have faced off with the goons that she now claimed to actually know, and would be more hurt than she already was.

  Or worse.

  His gut twisted good at that. Ah, hell. He was here for a reason, because he wanted to help. For that matter, she was here for a reason, too. And she’d wanted him to be the one. That would have to be enough for him. No matter what happened, he intended to see this through.

  To see her safe.

  “Go ahead,” he said, leaning back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”

  “Well…” She brushed some crumbs from her fingers. Imaginary crumbs, he was certain, because her fingers hadn’t touched her pizza. “Before you got all grumpy and irritated, I was trying to—”

  “Grumpy?” he asked incredulously. “Irritated?”

  “Yes.”

  “I did not get grumpy and irritated.”

  “Okay, then you were pouting.”

  He felt his eyes widen. He should have started with a beer. “Pouting?”

  “That’s right.”

  He laughed, but she didn’t. She just looked at him with those big, gorgeous eyes, earnest now.

  “You thought you knew what I was going to say before I said it,” she said. “Which, actually, was presumptuous, and not very nice.”

  He stared at her. “I’m not nice. You should know that by now.”

  “But you are.” She reached for his hand, slipping her much smaller, and damn it, chilled one in his. “You’re one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.”

  He laughed again, utterly without humor. If she thought that, then she’d—

  She’d been with worse men.

  All her life.

  His smile faded. “Bailey.”

  “You thought I was saying you weren’t my type,” she said. “You really thought, after all we’ve been through over the past few days, that I would look you in the eyes and say that.”

  Hell. Yeah, he’d thought that. Silently admitting it, he lifted a shoulder.

  “I was trying to say that I’ve never been with a man like you. It’d never occurred to me, and that’s my shame. Because a man like you…well, you’re real. I can’t explain it better than that. I was trying to thank you, and I wanted do that with no reflection on what we’ve been through personally. But you made me see something. I can’t leave the personal part out of it, because it is personal. Very personal.”

  Christ, her eyes were so soft they could break his heart without even trying.

  “I mean, it feels so inadequate to say, but you have to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done—”

  “It’s fine,” he said, cutting her off. He didn’t want her thanks. She wasn’t trying to rip his heart out, or compare him to the other assholes in her life.

  She was trying to thank him. Jesus. That was the last thing he wanted. But what he did want was a can of worms he intended to never open.

  “Tell me about Cabo,” she whispered.

  “Bailey—”

  “It’s where you crashed, isn’t it.”

  Like a knife to the gut. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Noah.”

  Jaw tight, he tried to pull his hand free, but she had the grip of a bulldog. “I can fly us there,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

  She looked down at their joined hands. “But—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  She lifted her head and killed him with those eyes, those shimmering, brilliant, shiny eyes. “I can only imagine what the flight cost you, what yet another flight there would cost you—”

  “Goddamnit, I just told you I was fine.”

  “But you’ve already done so much for me, already risked so much—”

  “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “But I’m so glad you did.” Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his jaw. “So glad.”

  And here came another pity fuck, right on schedule. Unable to handle it, he went to pull away, but he was still seated, and she held on with that grip of steel. She slid off her barstool. Her thighs bumped his knees, and without permission from his brain, his body went on high alert.

  Bad body.

  Still on tiptoes, she skimmed her lips toward his mouth. “I can never thank you for everything you’ve done,” she whispered, kissing him again, on the lips this time, softly, so achingly sweetly that he felt the iciness inside him slowly loosen. “Thank you,” she whispered again, and this time deepened the kis