Best Man's Conquest by Michelle Celmer

I thought you were dead. ”
    The tears flowed over and rolled down her cheeks, and whatever pride remained of his victory fizzled away. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    An explosive combination of fear and fury burned hot and lethal in her eyes. She wound up again, but before she could shove him he grabbed her wrists. She tried to jerk away, but this time he held on.
    â€œLet go of me!” She twisted and yanked, struggling to break free, and he began to worry that she was so hysterical, she would hurt not only him, but herself.
    â€œIvy, calm down! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He pulled her against him, managed to get his arms around her, pinning her close to his body to protect them both. She was cold, wet and trembling all over. “I’m sorry.”

Eight
    Has your ex frustrated you to the breaking point? Physical violence, though tempting, is not the answer. Try a punching bag or a voodoo doll instead.
    â€”excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)
    I vy wrestled with him another second or two, then went still in his arms.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said again, since that seemed to do the trick. He pressed his cheek to the top of her soggy head.
    Her body went lax, as if she’d burned up every last bit of energy, and she all but collapsed against him. Her arms circled his waist and she clung to him, a dripping, trembling, emotional catastrophe.
    It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. The game had gotten way out of hand this time. Hadn’t they hurt each other enough?
    â€œI’m sorry,” he whispered, and her arms squeezed him tighter. He would say it a million times if it would take back what he’d done.
    â€œI th-thought you were dead,” she hiccupped, her cheek pressed against his wet shirt. His throat felt tight with emotion.
    Jesus, what was wrong with him?
    May be it was a little crazy—or a lot crazy—but he liked her this way. Soft and sweet and vulnerable. She was usually so independent, so driven, he’d rarely had the opportunity to play the role of the hero. The protector.
    He stroked her soggy, tangled hair, and for one of those brief, fleeting moments remembered all the reasons he’d fallen in love with her. And wondered why in the hell he’d let her get away.
    But it was tough to keep someone around who didn’t want to be there.
    â€œYou’re going to wish you had drowned, because when I stop shaking, I’m going to kill you,” she warned him, but she didn’t let go. Didn’t even loosen her grip.
    Why would she get so upset if she didn’t still care about him, didn’t still love him somewhere deep down?
    And what difference would it make if she did? They’d had their go-around, and it had been a disaster. They may have loved each other, but that didn’t mean they could get along.
    That didn’t mean there hadn’t been good times, too.
    He cupped a hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. She gazed up at him with watery, bloodshot eyes, mascara running down her face, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
    â€œI must look awful,” she said with a sniffle.
    He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away the last of her tears. “Not at all.”
    In fact, he couldn’t remember her ever looking more beautiful, more appealing than she did at that very second.
    He brushed his thumbs over her full lips. Her mouth looked soft and inviting. He tried to recall what it felt like to kiss her, and not that taunting little peck she’d laid on him earlier. A real, honest to goodness, I’ll-go-nuts-if-I-can’t-have-you-this-second kiss.
    When he looked in her eyes he could swear she was thinking the exact same thing.
    In that instant he knew he needed to kiss her. Not wanted. He needed to.
    It wasn’t about revenge or breaking her spirit. It wasn’t even about sex. It was just