His heart pounded so hard he was certain she could hear it. Her pupils dilated, making her eyes look dark gray. A pulse beat in her neck, but she didn’t move away. When she looked at him the way she was, as if she saw him for who he was—not Hank the actor but Hank the man—all reasonable thought deserted him.
“I do feel it.”
Relief surged through his veins. He released the breath he’d been holding. He bent his head—close, closer—giving her plenty of time to reject him. Her lips parted. He could feel a little puff of breath. He took his time,filling his lungs with her unique smell until their lips touched. He liked the shape and softness of her lips, he liked her warm vanilla sugar scent, he liked the way she made a small sound in the back of her throat before opening her mouth under his. He likedher.
His body tightened, and he deepened the kiss, slipping his hands behind her shoulders and angling his mouth over hers. Long minutes crept by as he lost himself in the incredible taste of her—like a tall glass of lemonade—not too tart, not too sweet.Perfect.
Outside, a car honked, reminding him of where he was, reminding him that this was not the way he wanted to win her over—with chemistry. She should want him for all the reasons he wanted her: because she liked him as a person, because the bond between them was undeniable, because she thought a relationship with him was worth the risk.
He broke the kiss and rested his head against her forehead, breathing hard. “Forget about your bargain with Elizabeth. Forget about all the things you might have heard or read about me or what the gossip rags say. Give us a chance, Beth.”
He drew far enough away to watch the play of emotion in her expressive eyes: desire, worry, fear. “I can’t, Hank.” Her voice trembled. “Your life’s in Hollywood. Mine’s with my brother in our restaurant—with my neighbors and friends in Tremont. I could never survive in your world. I wouldn’t know how.”
She was right. Hank knew she was right, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He stalled for time. “I’m not asking you to marry me.”
He wanted her to say it didn’t matter. That she wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her. That she trusted him enough to override her cautious nature.
“I’m not good with casual dating, Hank.” Lights flashed through the window, and she glanced toward the door. “Your ride’s here.”
He studied the stubborn line of her lips. “Please tell me you’ll see me tomorrow.”
“I will see you tomorrow. You’re fixing our building.” She smirked, and he couldn’t help but laugh, relieving the tension between them.
“Smart aleck.”
He would not give up. Tomorrow was another day. He would sleep on it and resume his campaign in the morning. She was worth every bit of anxiety and longing and pain she kindled in him. She was worth the wait. “Have it your way, princess.” He tweaked her nose. She swiped at his hand but was too slow.
“I’ll be by tomorrow. There’s a drip in the bathroom sink, and I promised Sam a game of checkers. You can ply me with whoopie pies.” He winked. “It will be just like old times.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “Old times. It’s only been three days.”
He moved to the door, yanking it open. “Four days. And look how much progress we’ve made.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Bethany released her breath in a rush and rested her head against the closed door. How she’d had the strength of mind to resist Hank’s advances she would never know. The man had serious persuasive ability. And he smelled and tasted good enough to nibble on.
She pressed her fingers against the flat surface.My God.It was well after one in the morning, and she needed to get to bed. But how would she ever fall asleep with her blood zipping through her veins and her stomach vibrating with fear and excitement and her entire being longing for his touch?
She forced her legs to move—to go through her nighttime routine—put on PJs, wipe off makeup, brush teeth. All the while her mind relived their latest encounter.I’m not asking you to marry me.
She pulled a pillow and a light blanket from the hall closet and settled on the couch. Of course Hank was not in it for keeps. He made no secret that he planned to return to California. Their relationship would be brief. She would be foolish to think otherwise.
Yet, with his mouth on hers and their bodies pressed close, she had almost been willing to shove caution aside for a night of shared passion. She shivered and drew the blanket around her shoulders. She was not a short-term relationship kind of girl. When she gave herself, it was for keeps. After Desmond left, she had sworn she would never go down this path again with a man only to have him leave her. She would not risk everything she knew and everyone she cared about for a momentary pleasure.
Please tell me you’ll see me tomorrow.
Her heart had leaped at those words. Of course she wanted to see him tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after next. He was a toxic drug that her mind and body craved but could never have. Because with one kiss, she was lost. How much worse would it be if she slept with him, and he broke it off, which he would inevitably do when he returned to Hollywood? She would be a mess—worse than when Desmond left.
The key sounded in the lock, and Bethany knew Travis was home. She closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping.
Bethany woketo the sound of the doorbell. She glanced at the clock—it was six in the morning. Who would be at her doorstep so early? Had something happened at the hospital?
She tossed the blanket aside, ran her hands through her hair, and hurried to check the peephole. A delivery man stood on the front steps, a large vase of flowers in his hands. She opened the door and gazed in astonishment. Purples, oranges, yellows, reds, and greens dominated the bouquet.
“Here you are, ma’am.” He thrust the flowers in her direction and handed her a pen. “Can you sign here?”
“Of course.” She peeked around the bouquet to sign her name and took the gift inside, her nose thrust into the fragrant grouping. A small square envelope rested among the stems.
