But today, when I’d thought about my husband, it was Eric’s face I saw. Not Stuart’s.
And what the hell was I supposed to do about that?
Nothing.
The word filled my head, and it was right. I needed to focus on training the kids and figuring out what Stuart’s prophecy means.
The ruby bleeds? I mean, come on. Prophecies always want you to do something, so why make them so damn cryptic?
“Kate.”
I jumped a mile, then whipped around and threw a box of Kleenex at Eric. “What the hell? You scared me to death.”
“Kleenex? This is your new approach to self-defense?”
I crossed my arms, telling myself that my pulse had kicked up because he’d startled me. Not for any other unrelated and unwanted reason. “What do you want?”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and crossed to me.
“Dammit, Eric. You can’t just barge in.”
But that’s as far as I got, because suddenly his hands were cupping my face, and his mouth was on mine and, damn me, I was melting.
The kiss was everything I remembered. Everything I’d been trying to forget. Heat and hunger and the soul-deep recognition of someone who knew exactly how to take me apart.
I wanted to melt into it. God, I wanted to. My body was already responding, leaning into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt?—
I pulled back.
“Eric. No.”
He didn’t let go immediately. His forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard, the space between us charged with everything we weren’t saying.
“I want to,” I whispered, because maybe I owed him that. “You know I do. But I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “I suppose not.”
I expected anger. Frustration, at least. But he just nodded slowly, like he’d known this was coming.
“I get it,” he said. “I don’t like it, but I do get it.” His lips curved into a small, rueful smile. “Just don’t expect me to give up.”
“Eric, don’t.”
“I know you, Kate. Better than anyone.” He brushed a strand of hair from my face, the gesture achingly tender. “You made vows, and you’ll keep them even when they’re killing you. I get that. I respect it, even.”
The smile faded and he stepped closer. “But sooner or later, you’re going to have to choose. And when you do, I’ll be here.”
He kissed my forehead—soft, almost chaste—and turned to leave.
I forced myself not to stop him. Dug my nails into my palms and kept my mouth shut and watched him walk toward the door.
He paused.
My heart stuttered. Here it was. He was going to try again, push harder, and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to say no twice.
