He couldn't do this to her-he would not lie to her or mess with her head-ever again.

And if that was pity he'd just seen in her eyes, he sure as hell didn't want it!

Thomas heard Emma sniffle, felt her sob, and he pushed himself off the bed and away from her, his gut in turmoil, his heart ripped to shreds.

"Goddammit," he muttered, turning his back to her, lost to her, to reason, aware of nothing but how defective he was, how damaged and unworthy.

He nearly laughed aloud. The most alluring woman he'd ever laid eyes on was naked on his bed, crying. What a total disaster-a total disaster when all he wanted was total oblivion, total immersion in her, a moment to wallow inthe comfort and female softness of her and lose himself in her love.

All he wanted was her love.

It took every bit of strength Emma had to pull herself up to a sitting position. She folded her arms across her chest as if it would stop the shaking, staunch the bleeding.

That sure hadn't taken long. All she had to do was strip and all the fire and magic from downstairs was doused-gone-and nothing was left but a man with issues and a woman looking at rejection. Again.

Rejection.

Issues.

Baggage.

Emma wanted to scream!

Why did sex and love have to be so unbelievably complicated?

Thomas started to move. She watched him stalk toward the bathroom, providing her with a nice view of the high, muscular, man-ass that under any other circumstance would have made her punch-drunk with the pure wonder of it. She saw how the muscles rippled in his back as he reached infront of him to rip off the condom. She heard the soft ping as latex hit the inside of the wastebasket.

Right then would have been a good time to put her clothes on, but Thomas chose that moment to return to the bedroom, and Emma froze. He was still ferociously aroused, but his eyes were cold, as cold as she'd ever seen them, and his wide, sensual mouth was pulled in a thin line of despair.

"I have something to tell you," he said.

Thomas had reached a decision in the bathroom. The way he figured, he could make some bogus excuse and ask her to leave and lose her forever, which would probably be to her benefit, or he could tell her the truth-all of it-and hope beyond hope that she'd still want him.

What was the worst that could happen? He'd lose what he would have lost anyway, but at least he would have tried. At least he would have been a man about it.

"You deserve the truth," he said.

Emma gathered in her legs and wrapped her arms around her shins, compressing herself into a ball to stop the trembling. She didn't want him to see her shaking-from shame, from need. She didn't want him to see her naked.

"Spare me, Thomas." She looked at the wall. "I know perfectly well what you're going to say, and I can tell you from experience that I don't want to hear it." She took a steadying breath. "Give me a second and I'll get out of here, all right?"

She knew what? he wondered. That he was infertile? That he was dying from wanting her so much? That she looked amazing sitting like that, the lips of her little swollen sex peeking out from behind those tapered ankles?

Did she know he wanted to get down on his knees and worship her with his tongue? Did she know he wanted to pull those soft thighs of hers wide open and push his cock up inside her, disappear in her, die in the heat and relief and bliss of her? Did she know he wanted to give her everything, take away all the bad stuff that had ever happened to her and give her nothing but pleasure in return? Did she know all this?

"What do you think you know, Emma?"

She looked up at him, and the shock slammed through her entire body. His cold expression had been replaced by something hungry and desolate. And his erection! It was huge-more impressive than only a moment ago-and she simply didn't understand! If he didn't find her attractive, then why was he so… large? Why did she see desire in his eyes? What was going on?

"I think it's time for some direct communication." Thomas took a step closer. "You tell me what you know, Emma. Then I'll tell you what I know."

She exhaled sharply and launched off the bed, grabbing for her clothes. "I don't want to play this game anymore, Thomas," she snapped.

"This is no game. Tell me what you know."

She grabbed a shoe off the floor. "You want to know what I know? Well, listen up, Studly-I know I've had enough! You lie to me, seduce me, and then back off, then lie again, seduce me again, and back off again! You're killing me!"

She pointed the toe of a clog in his face. "You're a nut job, that's what I know! A whacko! And I don't understand why it's so damn hard to find a decent man in this town!"

Thomas felt his mouth fall open.

Emma tried to jam a foot into the leg opening of her underwear but missed, and her toe got caught on the crotch panel. As she hopped on one foot and cussed under her breath, Thomas watched those fabulous breasts jiggle and sway, all high and full and tipped with the most exquisitely formed, seriously suckable nipples he'd ever hoped to see as long as he lived.

She pulled the little strip of beige lace up over her mound. The panties clung tight and low on her luscious hips. And then it hit him.

Oh, fuck everything-he loved this woman and there was no turning back. He wanted to ravage that body. He wanted to soothe that spirit. He wanted to hold her, make her forget everything in the world but the fact that he loved her. He started to tell her that, but he wasn't fast enough.

"And here's what I'd really like to know-why is it that no one has ever fallen madly in love with me? What's wrong with me?" Her face was flushing and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "Why hasn't someone ever swept me off my feet? Ravaged me? Made me forget everything else in the world but hot, wild passion? Just once, dammit?"

She shook her bra in his face to make her point. "You made me think that it was going to be you, damn you, and then you just reject me! That's the meanest thing anybody's ever done to me, and I let you do it twice! Go figure! I must be a complete idiot!"

She was waving the bra around like a semaphore, her eyes and hair wild. "And you… you bastard! If you didn't think I was sexy enough for you, why didn't you just tell me before I threw myself at you?"

Thomas found his voice long enough to say, "Huh?" Then his tongue nearly hit the floor.

She'd managed to shove her arms through the straps of her bra, but in her fury, forgot to clasp it. Two useless lace cups just hung there, separated in the front, skimming above the jut of her nipples, accentuating the round curve of the underside of each breast. With every ragged breath she took, the lace caressed the pale, creamy mounds of skin.

His whole body began to tremble, like a cat sprung tight before the kill.

"You obviously didn't think I looked good last night or you would have said something! I kept waiting for you to say something! But you didn't, you big jerk!" She gulped in a mouth of air. "I'm so sick of jerks I could scream!"

His eyes locked on hers.

"Stop staring at me!" The tears slipped down her face. "I hate it when you squint like that-it feels like you're looking at me through the cross hairs!"

"Stop, Emma."

"And I'm terribly sorry if you didn't think I looked nice in that dress, because listen up, big guy-that was as good as it's ever going to get with me, so if I didn't do it for you, then we've definitely hit the wall!" She began to wrestle with her jeans.

Thomas felt the rumble of a laugh begin deep in his chest, but knew he'd screw himself but good if he let it out. Emma needed tenderness right now, not laughter.

He took a deep breath. Obviously, the dress was the test and he'd failed miserably, just as he knew he would. It was time to beg for a makeup exam.