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the hell gave him the right to be angry with me?
    He crossed the room in a few long strides, his heavy boots thudding across the carpet loudly enough to wake the dead, otherwise known as the other Alpha House ghosters, whose quarters were a floor beneath us.
    “So is this you getting back at me for Marie?” he bellowed, bearing down on me with a scowl.
    “No.” I was tempted to take a step back, but I lifted my chin and held my ground. I refused to be bullied by a jealous ass. “This is me visiting with friends.”
    He arched a brow, eyeing me coolly. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
    Of all the nerve!
    I glared as I crossed my arms. “I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me,” I said with a pout, laying the guilt on thicker than warm, gooey hot fudge sauce over vanilla ice cream.
    He cupped my face in his hand, a bold move for someone who was still on my neck-deep-in-shit list, but I didn’t pull away. That heartfelt look in his eyes put me in a trance. Damn. I sure hoped that look was for me. I mean, really for me, as in he’d forgotten all about Marie and was frightened at the possibility of losing me. And I thought I’d perfected the guilt trip. All he had to do was look at me, and my resolve was about as solid as melted butter.
    “The soldier desires you.” His soft gaze sharpened. “I can see it in his eyes.”
    I pulled away, missing the warmth of his touch but knowing I needed to keep my distance if I was going to have any chance of convincing Aedan he was wrong.
    “I know he does.” No use lying. Sarge had desire practically stamped across his forehead when he’d left my room. Besides, I didn’t want to lie to my boyfriend. I actually had a conscience.
    The smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth looked more accusatory than friendly. “So you invite him into your room?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Just because he has the hots for me doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it.” Then I leaned up and jabbed him in the chest. “I only date one asshole at a time.”
    He flinched. “I’m sorry about what happened today.”
    Such a typical guy. Apologize for something broad and sweeping like what had happened earlier instead of admitting the specifics, namely his obsession with Mar.
    I cocked a hand on my hip. “Oh, you mean calling me by another woman’s name after sex or lying about it?”
    He colored, and damn him for managing to look masculine and boyish at the same time. “Both.”
    Some part of me, the chicken-shit part, told me to drop it. He’d apologized. It was over. Now go back to pretending the relationship was perfect.
    But the more dominant part of me, the bitch part, said no fucking way was I going to let this slide. And no, it wasn’t about being angry or enacting vengeance. I wasn’t PMSing yet, after all. This was about me not wanting to spend the rest of my eternity with a man who didn’t truly care for me, no matter how much I cared for him.
    “And what about using me to fulfill some sick fantasy?” My tongue felt heavy as I spoke, the weight of my insecurity bearing down on my shoulders as I fell into a nearby chair and curled inward. I imagined myself a beetle, my arms and back a shell, protecting me from the pain as memories washed over me. I’d had a major crush on a boy when I was in eighth grade. James had been a ninth grader, tall and tanned with a deep voice that sometimes cracked, a wide mouth, and a smattering of freckles across his nose. I’d been struggling in algebra, and he was eager to volunteer when my math teacher asked him to tutor me. I’d thought it was because he liked me, but he’d only used me to get to my sister, a sophomore in high school.
    We were latchkey kids, so my mom never made it home until after six p.m. Tutoring started at four. That was plenty of time for my sister to lock me out of the house and lose her virginity. For two long weeks, I imagined myself a beetle, curling into a ball on my front porch. I pretended their