“So she left.” Amber’s voice was soft. Understanding. I hated that I wanted that understanding.
“Yeah.” I rinsed another dish, handed it to her with more force than necessary. “She found some banker in Denver who could give her what she really wanted and married him six months after she left here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The words came out clipped. “She did me a favor.”
“Did she?”
I turned to look at her then. She was closer than I’d realized. One step and I—
“Yeah. She taught me not to trust promises.”
Her hand landed on my forearm. Light. Tentative. The touch burned through the fabric of my shirt like a brand.
Every muscle in my body locked up. I stared at her hand—small and pale against the dark flannel—and fought the urge to either jerk away or pull her closer.
Her fingers flexed slightly, and I felt it everywhere.
“Dalton.” My name on her lips made my jaw clench. She stepped closer, and I could smell that citrus scent that had been driving me insane. “No matter how hard you try to be, you’re not the cold bastard you pretend to be.”
“How do you know that?
I should have walked away and ended this conversation. But she was standing there looking at me like she could see straight through every wall I’d built, and I couldn’t move.
Her thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse. Could she feel how it jumped? “You’re just scared.”
That wasn’t true. I’d sworn off women. But looking into her big, brown eyes, seeing the empathy there, it made me start to rethink a few things.
“I should go upstairs,” she said quietly, moving her hand.
“Stay.”
The word came out as a command, not a request.
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Just for a while. It’s warmer in the living room.” I paused. “Please.”
She studied my face and whatever she saw there made her nod. “Okay.”
She followed me into the living room and settled onto the couch, tucking those long legs underneath her like she’d done it a thousand times before. I busied myself with the fire, taking longer than necessary. What the hell had I just done? Inviting her to spend time with me?
But eventually the fire caught, and I had no more excuses. The smart thing would be to take the chair. Keep distance between us. I sat on the opposite end of the couch like a fucking idiot. Even with three feet between us, I could feel the heat of her. Hear every breath. My hands curled into fists against my thighs.
“Tell me about the rodeo,” she said.
“Why?” Hell, had I forgotten how to have a civil conversation?
She just smiled as if she were used to my brand of conversation. “Because I want to know.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“So?” She tilted her head, studying me in a way that made me want to either leave the room or close the distance between us. “Humor me.”
I should have told her it was none of her business.
Instead, I started talking.
