He’d already smashed through every wall I’d built around myself. So spectacularly too. I hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.
Until I was in too deep.
Because the truth, the sad, sad truth was I wanted more. More kisses. More of seeing him with Millie—so much more of that. More family lunches with him at the table. More of his time. Of his body.
But mostly, I wanted his heart.
I’d never have that. Sadness crept into my pores and settled inside my chest.
I couldn’t let him see.
Lifting my chin, I said the only thing I could. “This morning should never have happened.”
The lie came out barely above a whisper, but with how Tristan reared back, one would’ve thought I’d yelled it at the top of my lungs.
His expression was... No, that couldn’t be right. He looked hurt.
A pang of guilt sliced between my ribs, while at the same time my fingers burned with a need to slide over his broad shoulders and pull him close. It was so strong, not giving in to it felt almost impossible.
That was why I shoved at his chest instead.
Of course, the wall that was Tristan didn’t freaking move. I had a sneaky suspicion he knew I couldn’t think properly when he took up so much of my personal space.
“Tristan—”
“Don’t.” He silenced me by sliding two fingers over my mouth. “It wasn’t a mistake. And if you’re about to tell me otherwise, I don’t want to hear it.”
His gaze bored into mine. So serious, so intense. I was certain he could see right through me. Could peer into the depths of my soul and uncover my deepest, darkest secrets.
“It was.” There was zero conviction in my tone. “It has to be.”
“Why?”
“Why do you care?” I fired back. “Isn’t this exactly the kind of thing you do? No strings, no attachments? One and done, right?”
Brows dipping low, he stared at me. His expression softened, morphing into something I hadn’t seen before. My blood pumped faster, thrumming between my ears with an impossibly loud whoosh that made it hard to freaking think. Or maybe it was the man looming over me.
“Dammit, Tristan.” I shoved at his chest one more time. “Move.”
“No.”
He was still staring at me with an unsettling intensity. It pissed me the hell off.
“Why are you so damn desperate for me to admit out loud what happened? Do you need some ego boost? For me to tell you how good it was, or that I’ll be thinking about it for weeks, if not months, to come?” Yet again, I slammed my palms down on the hard planes of his chest. “What? What the hell is it?”
Dizzy, furious, and embarrassed out of my freaking mind, I was borderline hysterical. All his fault. If only he’d take ten steps back and give me the space I needed to breathe and calm my frantic mind.
I opened my mouth, ready to beg him to freaking move already when he pressed his palm against my cheek.
“I don’t know, Kate,” he whispered. His gaze roamed over my face, slowly, steadily before they met mine again. What I saw there—the rawness, the devastation—sucked the breath right out of my lungs.
“I don’t fucking know. You showed up one day with those gorgeous eyes filled with sadness, and my entire fucking world flipped upside down.”
My gaze searched his. “What are you saying?”
I didn’t hear his answer.
My stomach churned violently, and a hefty amount of bile bubbled up my throat. My head spun, painting the world in a blurry haze.
