Inhee had returned to the kitchen with the baby in her arm, and set about making up a bottle for her. Jongin watched them carefully, knowing that a gentleman would have offered to help, but finding himself not quite able to live up to that ideal.

“It’s good we’ve got a chance to sit down and talk,” he said as he carried their coffees over to the kitchen island. “I wanted to apologise for the other day. The…the kiss. And the way I left things. I know I was a bit abrupt.”

“It’s fine—“ Inhee started, but he held up a hand to stop her.

The memory of the confusion on her face had been haunting him, and he knew that if they were to live together, even if it was only temporarily, he had to make sure she knew exactly why that kiss had been such a mistake. Why she shouldn’t hope for or expect another.

They had only known each other for a few days, but after that parting shot at the hospital he wouldn’t be able to blame her if she’d misinterpret things—if she’d read more into that kiss than he’d ever wanted to give.

She deserved better than that…better than a man with his limitations. And with Nari in her life she was going to have to demand more. Demand someone who would support her family life whatever happened. He’d already been tested on that front and found wanting. It was only fair that Inhee knew where they both stood.

“Please,” he continued, “I want to explain.”

A line appeared between her brows, as if she had suddenly realised that this was a conversation neither of them would enjoy. The suggestion that she was hurt pained him physically, but he forced himself to continue—for both their sakes.

“There’s no need to explain anything, but I’ll listen if you want me to.”

She glanced over at the counter, her edginess showing in the way she was fidgeting with her coffee cup. The anxious expression on her face told him so much. She’d guessed something of his history. Guessed, at least, how hard it was for him to be around Nari. Had she seen how impossible it would be for them to even be friends?

Not that friends would ever have really worked, he mused, when the sight of her running a hand through her hair made him desperate to reach across and see if it felt as silky as it looked. When he’d lain awake every night since they’d last met remembering the feel of her lips under his, imagining the softness of her skin and the suppleness of her body.

He kept his eyes on Inhee, never dropping them to the little girl in her arms, not risking the pain that would assault him if he even glanced at Nari or acknowledged that she was there. The way Inhee looked at him with her clear gaze gave him no room to lie or evade. He knew that faced with that open, honest look he’d be able to speak nothing but the truth.

“There’s something I need to tell you…” he started, cold climbing his chest, wondered how on earth he was meant to get these words out. How he was meant to relive the darkest days of his life with this woman who a week ago had been a stranger.

“I know there’s something between us—at least I know that I’ve started to feel something for you. But I need you to know that I won’t act again on what I feel.”

He kept his voice deliberately flat, forcing the emotion from it as he’d had to do when faced with people living and working in inhuman conditions. And he looked down at the table, unable to bear her sympathetic scrutiny. Or what if he had read this wrong—what if there was nothing between them at all? What if he’d imagined the chemistry that kept drawing them together even as it hurt him? It wasn’t as if he’d even given her a chance to return his kiss. He risked a glance up at her. Her lip was caught between her teeth and the line had reappeared on her forehead. But he wasn’t sure what he was seeing on her face not clear disappointment. Definitely not surprise.

“It’s fine, Jongin. You don’t need to say any more.”

“I do.”

He wanted her to know, wanted to acknowledge his feelings even if it was just this once. Wanted her to understand that it was nothing about her that was holding him back. And he wanted her to understand him in a way that he’d never wanted before. He’d never opened up and talked about what had happened. But now he had been faced with the consequences of the choices he had made so many years ago he want to acknowledge what he had felt, what he felt now.

“I want to explain. For you to understand. Look, it’s not you, Inhee.” He cringed when he heard for himself how clichéd that sounded. “It’s…it’s Nari. It’s the way that you look at her. I won’t ever have children, Inhee. And I know that I cannot be in a relationship—any relationship—because of that.”

“Jongin, we barely know each other. Don’t you think that you’re being—?”

He was thinking too far ahead. Of course he was. But if he didn’t put an end to this now he wasn’t sure how or if he ever could. What he had to say needed to be said out loud. He needed to hear it to make sure that he could never go back, never find himself getting closer to Inhee and unable to get away.

“Maybe. Maybe I’m jumping to a million different conclusions here, and maybe I’ve got this all wrong. But the thing is, Inhee, I’m never going to want to have children. Ever. And I don’t think it would be right for me to leave you in any doubt about that, given your current situation.”

He allowed himself a quick look down at Nari, and the painful clench of his heart at the sight of her round cheeks and intense concentration reminded him that it was because of the baby. Of course that was a big part of it. But there was more—there were things that he couldn’t say