“I know,” I say with a rueful smile. “Thank you.” He reaches out to take my hand and gives it an affectionate squeeze, and my chest mimics the gesture with my heart.
Why am I so disappointed he’s not making a move on me right now when I literally set this whole thing up to deter him?
I’m the one who keeps telling him I’m not looking for anything real or lasting, that I don’t want any of the same things he does. And regardless of whether that’s true, I can’t give him what he wants. I’ve finally gotten him to see that I’m not only a danger to his virtue but a dead-end street.
So why am I standing here on the verge of tears at the very idea of him only seeing me as a friend?
Maybe his lack of jealousy is a blow to my ego. I guess a part of me expected a little more fire from his response after the way he’s been chasing me lately. Although that kisswaspretty steamy, at least for me.
No, it’s not my pride that’s been wounded. I’m afraid the origins of this ache are closer to my heart.
I choke back the emotion lodged in my throat, but he drops my hand and turns away to sift through that bag of groceries before I can speak.
“So I guess you weren’t really sick after all,” he muses as he saves the ice cream in the freezer.
Maybe a little guilt-ridden and a touch lovesick …
“My stomach’s been sort of weird all day, but I don’t think I’m contagious,” I say dumbly.
“Hmm. Well, now that you’re free and clear, what do you want to do tonight?” he asks.
Anything that involves your bare skin against mine, especially if we can talk and cuddle after.
“Nothing really,” I say instead.
He sniffs the air as he walks by me with his bag, and I shamelessly run my eyes over him as I briefly consider the ethical implications of a not-so-accidental peanut exposure and a hydrocortisone cream massage. A little contact dermatitis wouldn’t be all that bad, would it? Especially not when I’d promise to nurse him back to health …
Holy crap. I’m actually losing it.
“Did your date request his steak well done?” Rowan poses with a laugh.
“Oh, shit,” I curse before turning to the oven. “I almost forgot—”But my voice breaks off when his hands cover my shoulders, and he steers me toward my bedroom.
“Why don’t you run yourself a hot bath while I finish dinner? You look like you could use a little self-care moment.”
“Okay,” I squeak. My bottom lip trembles as I let him lead me on, and I worry I’m either going to start sobbing or yank him down to join me in that bath.
“You can even put on your spicy pajamas, and I promise I won’t say a word.”
I accidentally let out a whimper, and he stops once he realizes I’m trying not to cry.
“Claire,” he begins, spinning me around. “What’s going on?”
I shrug as the first tear slips down my cheek, and he reaches up to wipe it. But I can’t answer him without defaulting to a full-blown ugly cry.
“Hey, you can tell me anything, remember?” he reassures me. I can’t tell him what I don’t understand, though, and everything suddenly seems so hopeless and overwhelming.
“I think … I just … I can’t …” As predicted, a huge sob wracks my body before I can go on.
“Come here,” he says in a soothing tone as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in his chest, mortified, but he continues rubbing my back and crooning into my ear.
“It’s all right, I’ve got you,” he whispers, sending me on another emotional loop-de-loop.
No, that might actually be the ground falling out beneath me when Rowan lifts me up to cradle me within his arms. My stomach swoops and I cling to him as he takes a few steps forward, stopping to shut off the oven before he carries me to my bedroom. He yanks the covers back with one hand and gently lays me on the bed.
I clutch at his shirt when he tries to pull away. “No,” I breathe. “Stay with me, please.”
He frowns, but he nods and kicks off his shoes before he slides in beside me, and I curl into him before he can put any distance between us.
