“I’m sorry,” I rasp once I manage to stop crying, peering up at him through swollen eyes and undoubtedly looking like a snotty mess. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I suspect it could be hormonal.”
I sigh. He’s right, of course. My period’s due any day now. And here’s to another month in which I let the infamous PMS-driven spiral into despair sneak up on me.
At least I can blame most of this on my shifty hormones, though.
“You’d think I’d have made the connection, especially with the stomach cramps,” I say with a sad smile.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks, bracing himself to rise from the bed.
“No, thank you. Just … don’t leave me,” I plead again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures me. He continues stroking my back as he leans down to kiss my forehead, and I can’t help it when the tears begin all over again.
“You’re breaking my heart,” he says quietly when I accidentally whimper loud enough for him to hear.
“I can’t stop myself,” I wail, and I’m grateful when he seems to assume I’m referring to my tears and not the way I keep hurting him. “It just feels like no matter what I do, I’m going to end up alone.”
“You’re not going to be alone. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll always be here, overstaying my welcome until you force me out.”
I shake my head, inadvertently wiping my snot onto his shirt. “No, you won’t. I won’t let you. You have to go out and find your perfect little Catholic girl, the one who realizes how lucky she’d be to cook and clean and pray for you all day. And she’ll be as gorgeous and sweet and innocent as you are, and your family’s going to love her. You’ll have a beautiful church wedding and an amazing honeymoon, because you were smart enough not to waste yourself on me. And you’ll probably knock her up the first time you have sex, and like, every time after that. So you’ll have a shitload of babies, and they’ll all be perfect, just like you. Because you deserve that, Rowan. You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted.” It all comes out as a barelyintelligible ramble from my place at his chest, but he’s still listening intently.
He lets out a shaky exhale, and I think he might start crying, too. “You deserve all that, too. And you’re going to have it—a man who loves you for you and not only for what you can do for him, a man who lives to chase you and doesn’t mind when you make him work for it. Someone who’s willing to do anything to show you how much he wants you and needs you, because you’re the most amazing woman he’s ever known. He’ll remind you every day that you’re sexy and strong, and he’ll tell you that he can’t bear the idea of living without you, that one kiss was enough to scramble his brain chemistry and shift the way he sees the world forever … that he could never go back to the man he was before you.” He pauses and gulps loudly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“But what if he doesn’t exist?” I whine.
“He does. I promise.” His voice cracks when he says it.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just unlovable.”
He pushes me away, and I panic for a second, thinking I’ve said too much. But he’s only repositioning me so that he can gaze into my eyes when he says, “You arenotunlovable—far from it. And I never want to hear you say that again.”
“But if it weren’t true, I’d be …”
I can’t finish when I read the look on his face, though. His brows are drawn together over his watery eyes, and the corners of his mouth are turned down.
“You’d already be in the arms of a man who loves you?” he whispers.
I have to force my lungs to keep working as he continues staring at me. “I know you care about me, but it’s not the same,” I venture and watch for his reaction.
“Only because you won’t let me love you the way I want to.”
My eyes are fixed on his lips as he waits for me to run with his confession. For once, I wish I could give him the response he’s looking for. Instead, I make the dumbest move ever—or at least the most selfish—when I reach up and drag his face down to mine.
CHAPTER FORTY
claire
Rowan’s musclesrelax as he melts into the kiss, his lips moving against mine so slowly and deliberately that there’s no mistaking his feelings for me. This isn’t the way you kiss someone you only want to sleep with, or even someone you’re trying to save from a bad date, and it’s certainly not just a kiss between friends. He’s savoring it, like he’s been dying to kiss me, or he’s worried it might be his last chance.
Despite all that, it doesn’t take long for his careful, unhurried kisses to grow more demanding. His hands curl around my sides as he hauls me in closer, molding his body to mine and showing me how badly he wants me, to my relief. And the low moan that rumbles up from his chest in conjunction with me rolling my hips into his says heneedsme.
Good, because I need you, too.
I must have accidentally articulated that thought aloud, because Rowan immediately tenses and pulls away, leaving me with my chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath.
“I’m sorry. We can’t,” he rasps.
