Page 160 of Power Play

“I know.”

Her jaw tightened. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re basically saying I have to prove I’m worthy of sleeping with you.”

“No.”

The anger came back hard. “I’m saying I have to know you think I’m worth fighting for before I tangle my heart any deeper with yours.”

That silenced her.

I pointed toward myself. “I don’t give a fuck about impressing your father. I don’t care about fitting into your world. I don’t care whether I know which fork to use at some ridiculous dinner, whether your mother thinks my Spanish makes me sound rough, or whether Lance believes I’m good enough to stand next to his daughter.”

My chest hurt now, every word pulling another layer of armor away while Charm stood close enough to see what lived beneath it.

“I care whether you stand next to me anyway.”

Charm’s tears fell faster.

I swallowed around the pressure in my throat. “If that scares you, I can wait. I am content kissing you. I like spending time with you, teaching you Spanish, and listening to you explain fabric like I’m supposed to understand why one black is different from another black.”

A wet laugh escaped her despite everything. “They are different.”

“I fucking know that now because you’ve told me forty times.”

Her mouth trembled.

“I don’t need to fuck you to prove any of that is real.”

“But I want you.”

“I know.”

My voice broke slightly because that had never been the problem.

She looked at me, and I let her see all of it. The anger, the want, the fear, and how fucking close I was to breaking my own rule because she stood in front of me crying in lingerie. Every violent instinct inside me wanted to pull her into my bed and make both of us forget this conversation happened.

“I want you so fucking badly I can taste it. I’ve wanted your body for years, and that is the easiest part of this.”

Her breath caught as I took one final step toward her.

“The problem is that I want everything attached to the body you keep offering me.”

Charm’s eyes closed, and I resisted the urge to touch her.

“I want the woman who argues with me. I want the woman who tells her mother she hates the fucking dress if she hates it. I want the woman who keeps holding my hand when somebody looks, and I want the version of you that doesn’t reduce whatever this is to hanging out because some guy asks a question you weren’t prepared for.”

Her eyes opened again.

“I’m not asking you to become fearless. I’m asking you to decide whether I’m worth being afraid for.”

That landed deep enough to stop her tears for a second.

Then her face twisted. “You are.”

I wanted to believe her.

Maybe I already did.

The problem was that Charm still sounded like she needed me to believe it for both of us.