“I don’t feel sorry for you, Heather. I never have. What I feel is so damn desperate to touch you that I had to leave before I did something we couldn’t take back. I was going to bend you overthat bench and fuck you until you couldn’t walk. I was going to make you come on my cock instead of your fingers, and I wasn’t going to stop until you were screaming my name so loud that the whole neighborhood could hear it.”
Chapter 21
Heather
My breath catches in my throat, and the silence that stretches out between us is so deafening that I start to question whether I heard him correctly.
The rational part of my brain is telling me there’s no way this is really happening, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s dead serious.
But even if I’m able to believe him and convince myself that he’s not just doing all of this out of pity or some misguided, chivalrous notion of what a man should do or how he should act, I still don’t quite understand how it’s possible that someone like him could want someone like me so intensely that he had to walk away before he lost control.
Not when it’s Grant Parker. Always in control. Always disciplined and measured and analytical.
I know that much about him just from existing in the same space for these past few weeks. I also know that he’s not irrational or emotional. Like, ever. He doesn’t do drama or chaos, and his life isn’t inherently messy like mine always seems to be.
I look back down the hallway, half-expecting Margo or Grant’s coach or one of his teammates to come out of theconference room and check on us, but we’re still the only ones out here in the corridor.
And somehow, we’ve both managed to keep our voices down and stay professional.
Mostly professional.
There’s still space between our bodies. His hands are still on either side of my head, still pinning me in place, but he hasn’t actually touched me.
Just a totally normal, grown-up situation.
Except for the way my heart is beating so loudly that it’s drowning out everything else, and my pulse is fluttering wildly as I start to think about how easy it would be for him to close this gap between us.
And how much I want him to.
But then my thoughts shift back to those three women he was just talking to in the conference room. All three of them were so polished and put together, with designer clothes, perfect hair, and flawless makeup.
They’re the kind of women who belong at fancy donor events like this. The kind of women who wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a sweatshirt with mystery stains down the front, especially in public.
And here I am, frantic and hectic, looking like I just blew in off the streets and am coming apart at the seams. I’m pretty sure I still have at least one Cheerio stuck in my hair from when April spilled her breakfast this morning.
This is peak single mom mode, and there’s nothing about my life right now that’s cute or romantic. There’s every possibility that April and I will continue to live a life of chaos and messes and I’ll never quite have my shit together, at least not before she turns eighteen and can make her own choices and decisions.
I want to believe him when he says he wants me that badly, and I want nothing more than to be swept off my feet and live inthis magical fairytale where, for some completely inconceivable reason, he wants me and all my mess instead of those women who have their lives together and smell like expensive perfume instead of maple syrup and kids’ cereal.
But the idea of believing all that, of letting myself fall into this fantasy, sets off every alarm bell I have. It activates that self-preservation instinct that I spent years developing after I left Steven.
Because Steven swept me off my feet too. He made me feel special and wanted, like I was the only woman in the world who mattered to him. And that ended so fucking badly that I’m still dealing with the aftermath almost a decade later.
Grant is still looking at me like he’s trying to see into my soul. He still hasn’t spoken since he dropped that bomb on me, and he’s clearly ready to leave the ball in my court for as long as it takes for me to regain my voice.
“I didn’t know that.” I swallow hard. “That you felt that way.”
“I did. I do.”
This is hard. Too hard, with him standing so close that I can feel the short bursts of his breath on my skin as I struggle to sort out what I want in this moment from what will be best in the long-term for me and my daughter.
“Maybe it’s just as well that you did leave.” I look up into his eyes even though I don’t want this to turn into a confrontation. “It’s probably better if what happened between us was just a one-time thing. Something we can leave in the past.” I inhale, then slowly exhale a shaky breath. “We can just be friends. Friendly, like we originally agreed. Nothing too complicated.”
There’s a flash of pain in his eyes that’s so real he actually flinches for a half-second before regaining control of his features. Still, it’s obvious that he doesn’t like my suggestion, and it makes my stomach ache to know that I’ve upset him after everything he’s done for me.
“Is that really what you want?”
There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before, and I almost take it all back, just to avoid this feeling.
