I set down my glass because my hand is too unsteady. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing’s changed on my end. I still love you. I still want to be with you. I’m just waiting for you to say you want it too.”
My throat closes, so tight it ripples with pain. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.” Frustration laces his words. “I loved you in Tahoe. And I love you now, here. All you have to do is…believe me.”
“I don’t know what I believe. I’m still such a fucking mess. My head is always spinning. My hormones are out of whack. I cry all the time. I can’t even tell if whatIfeel is real.”
Hurt fills his eyes. “You’re saying you don’t know if you love me?”
A helpless feeling twists my stomach. I lay both hands flat on the counter, needing to ground myself. “I’m saying I’m on an emotional roller coaster, and until I feel like myself again, I can’t be sure of what I want. And I can’t give you any answers.”
His features go taut for a moment, but then he swallows, relaxing his jaw. Slowly, he bridges the distance between us.
I suck in a shaky breath, torn between the longing in my chest and the crushing weight of doubt. He never told me he loved me before I got pregnant. He claims hefeltit, but my brain keeps insisting that isn’t true, and the darkness inside me wants to push him away for it.
But when he slowly approaches and I whisper, “Wyatt,” I’m not sure if I’m asking him to come closer or to stop.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, and his touch is so gentle, so careful, that I almost burst into tears.
“Tell me to leave,” he says roughly.
I don’t.
I can’t.
Instead, I reach up and run my fingers over his jaw, feeling the tension there. “I don’t want you to go.”
That’s all it takes. I blink and his mouth is on mine. He tastes like wine and faintly of smoke, and I wonder if he’s picked up the habit again. If so, I hope it’s not because of me.
His lips brush over mine, and I’m confused by his kiss. How slowit is, how cautious. It’s a restraint I’ve never felt from Wyatt. He’s holding back.
“Kiss me for real,” I whisper. “The way you used to. Please.”
The request seems to undo him. With a strangled noise, he kisses me again, deeper this time, and my body lights up under his touch. I part my lips for him, and his tongue slides through them. When it touches mine, an electric shock surges through me.
When he pulls back, my breath gets trapped in my lungs. God, that look in his eyes. Like I’m the only thing that matters to him in this entire world. Or maybe I’m just projecting what Iwantto see, but I don’t care.
“Let’s go to my room,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
Am I sure? No.
Is this a bad idea? Probably.
Am I going to stop him? Not a chance.
Rather than answer, I take his hand and pull him toward the stairs. We don’t say a word as we go up to my bedroom. I close and lock the door, and we stand in the dim light of the bedside lamp that I forgot to turn off earlier, eyeing each other.
I miss you. The words burn my tongue. But I don’t think I can say them out loud without unleashing a wave of emotion.
He steps toward me, framing my face with both hands. Then his mouth is on me again. He trails it along my jaw, down my neck, each kiss making my breath hitch. But his control is slipping. I can feel it in the way he thrusts his fingers in my hair and pulls on it to guide my mouth closer to his. I can hear it in the groan that rumbles in his chest when my tongue fills his mouth.
“I missed you,” he whispers between kisses. His breathing is labored. “Missed you so fucking much.”
I don’t say it back. I just kiss him again, and he plasters his body against mine as if there isn’t enough space in the world for the two of us to exist apart. When I feel his erection against my stomach, I let out a helpless, needy moan.
