Yes, I could have her.
But I would want to keep her.
And I don’t know how I’ll ever give her up.
Better to walk away now. Better now than when we're so deep there's no finding the surface.
Better now than when it turns into the kind of hurt neither of us comes back from.
I let my lips drag one last slow path from her jaw to the shell of her ear. Give myself that much. Give us both that much.
“You waited this long, darlin,’” I rasp. “Wait for the man you're in love with.” My voice comes out like it’s been dragged through gravel. “You deserve that. You deserve all of it.”
She makes a small sound. Like the words hurt her.
They hurt me too.
I take one breath.
Then my hands span her waist.
Fuck, she's so soft, she's always so soft.
I lift her clear out of the water in one motion. The droplets scatter as I set her back on the pool ledge above me.
Now she's looking down at me. Me looking up at her. Both of us breathing hard.
I make myself let go. I need to be sensible about this, about whatever this is. This wordless tug. This feeling like she’s mine to keep close and guard like a precious jewel.
No matter what my primal instincts are telling me, she'snotmine.
Even if tonight she came home to me.
The look in her eyes is complicated. A little fiery, like she’s ready to call me chickenshit again. A little bit wounded. But a whole lot of understanding too. Like she sees me. Sees past all my layers, tough as worn out leather these days, and she understands something about me that I don’t.
My hands have migrated to her thighs again of their own accord, caressing up and down, so I wrench them away now.
“Get some sleep, baby,” I tell her.
The endearment just slips out. Blame that on the whiskey too.
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “You too. Good night, Walker.”
She gets to her feet. The lace is useless. Beautifully useless and a form of torture at the same time. I can see everything. Her round ass and hourglass curves, every inch that I’m dying to touch and taste.
She picks up her dress off the deck and drops it back over her arm without putting it on. Doesn't seem to care that I can see everything.
Fuck.
Then she turns and walks toward the house, bare feet slapping on the warm concrete. Wet hair down her back. My eyes linger on the transparent lace. The sway of her hips.
I curse my self-control. I press the back of my head against the pool edge and stare at the sky.
Three years.
Feels like three hundred right now.
“Sadie,” I call out before I can stop myself.
