“Please,” I beg quietly.
He shakes his head and continues studying my face. “I really hurt you, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“Claire.” His authoritative tone makes my stomach dip again.
“Okay. Yeah, sure, my pride took a hit when you ran out of the room so fast that you forgot your drawers,” I say, attempting a lighthearted tone. “But I was the one who insisted we keep it casual, so I wasn’t dumb enough to take it personally when you left me in that hotel room, all alone … and practically naked. Or when you didn’t bother to call … or when you looked so unhappy to see me at your sister’s wedding earlier.”
He frowns and moves one of his hands up to my face, using his thumb to swipe away a tear. Great, now I’mcrying? Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more pathetic …
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I mean it. I’ve been nothing but selfish and stupid this whole time. And I haven’t been considering your feelings or treating you with the respect you deserve.” He pauses to pull up on his shirt and dabs tenderly at my nose when I sniffle, turning me into a puddle all over again. “I should have known you’d be in a vulnerable place, especially with it being so close to your divorce hearing. But I panicked, and I didn’t make the effort to look past my own feelings and consider how I might have hurt you by leaving that way.”
I don’t think I can manage to form a reply without letting out a sob, so I just shake my head.
“I’m afraid I was so enamored with you that night that I forgot how to think with the head on my shoulders,” he continues with a self-deprecating smile. “I wasn’t kidding before when I said there’s never been anyone who makes me forget who I am and how to act before, but I’ve been making a mess of everything since the moment I met you.”
“It’s me. I’m the mess,” I rasp, my voice cracking.
This time he pulls me in for a hug, and I don’t think I’ve ever gotten this much pleasure from a simple embrace. The combination of strength and security, the warmth and comfort of being wrapped up in his arms, it’s more satisfying than any form of physical touch. It’s also terrifying, because I barely know this man, yet his presence makes me question how well I know myself.
“You’re not a mess,” he reassures me, his chin resting atop my head. “Well, no more of a mess than I am, anyway.”
A soft laugh escapes before I can help myself. “That’s not very promising, you know.”
“No, I guess it isn’t,” he concedes. “But maybe that’s why we keep finding one another. Maybe one of us is meant to help the other grow insome way.”
I huff out another laugh. “Is that what you meant when you said we were soulmates?”
He loosens his hold on me and pulls away. “Eh, not exactly,” he admits with a coy smile.
“Athanasius Rowan,” I chide him playfully. “Are you telling me that was just a line you used to get me into bed?”
His face instantly flushes, and the implication of his guilt makes my stomach turn.
“I can promise you that wasn’t the case,” he mumbles shyly. “In fact, it was more like the other way around.”
I take a step back as I let his statement settle. “So you thought I was just feeding you a sob story about my life being in shambles, all so you’d sleep with me out of pity?”
He groans. “Of course not. I only meant that I needed to know you felt a connection, too, or I wouldn’t have had the courage to ….” But he shakes his head, as if he’s unable to finish. “Look, Claire, there’s a lot more I could say about that night. But I’m afraid I’m too tired for most of it to make sense right now. Think we can table this discussion for another time, when I’m less likely to keep putting my foot in my mouth? And less tempted to put my mouth on yours.” He adds that last part quietly, and I can’t decide whether I’m more pissed or turned on by it.
“I think we’ve both said more than enough,” I mutter.
“No, we haven’t. But can we please talk again in the morning?” He blinks lazily, his eyelids looking incredibly heavy, and I realize just how exhausted he must be.
“Good night, Rowan,” is all I say.
“Good night, Claire. Thanks again.”
Then he turns and practically staggers toward the bed, and I shut the door behind me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
claire
Oscar and Frankietake a few extra minutes to sniff the unfamiliar truck parked in my driveway when I let them out the next morning. I smirk to myself when they each lift a stubby leg to mark the driver’s side tire. They come bounding in proudly after that, and I reward them with a few bits of bacon, their favorite treat.
“Who’s Mama’s good boy? Hmm? Is it you, Frankenstein? Frankfurter? Frankie-Panky?”
