“No, you most certainly cannot.”
“But I’m two-for-two. You can’t leave me hanging.”
Rolling my eyes, I finally let him take it.
“Oh,” he said, his ears turning pink.
Fortified by his embarrassment, I teased, “So… are you three-for-three?”
He rubbed his forehead. “There’s really no graceful way out of this, is there?”
“You wanted to see the card,” I said, suddenly enjoying myself far too much. “Did you bring any?” I was ready for the answer either way, and intuitively, I was determined it would decide the unasked question I hadn’t been brave enough to answer myself. Would I, or wouldn’t I? The question hovered between us, quiet and loaded.
Caleb lowered his hand and met my gaze. “Honestly,” he said, “I did not. I didn’t think you?—”
“Oh.” I blinked.
I’d been certain of a yes, not this. It wouldn’t have diminished him in my eyes—I knew he’d never force or coerce me into bed, but he was a confident man who’d waited alongtime for me already. I realized, suddenly, that the emotion I was feeling wasn’t disappointment or relief, but something like grief. Because I knew what I wanted—Caleb in my arms with nothing between us—and I couldn’t have it.
Our time would come. Just not yet.
I took the card from him and slipped it back into his billfold. “Let’s read one of yours—” I stopped short when I opened it.
There were no postcards inside.
Only two electronic hotel key cards.
I looked up at him. “What are these?”
Before he could answer, the room answered for him.
I looked around.
The pianist was gone. The maître d’ and the barman—gone. The door was closed.
We were alone.
“They’re the keys to this suite,” Caleb said gently. “Tooursuite.” Hestood and tugged lightly on my hand. “We haven’t danced. Give me one dance to cap off a perfect evening, then I’ll take you home.”
I rose with him, my heart thudding. “I’d love to dance,” I said, even though I wasn’t ready to leave yet.
With the chairs pushed back, there was enough space. I stepped into his arms, resting my head against his shoulder as we swayed together, our bound hands pressed to my chest.
“This is nice.”
“Mm-hmm.” He kissed the top of my head. “I want to say something.”
I tilted my face up to his.
“I’m sorry for what I said before your birthday,” he said. “I realize now I need you more than I need to know everything about you.”
He was contrite, and it showed in his eyes.
“I wish I could take back what I said?—”
“You were right,” I said softly, wishing I could rewind the past. “It was me who was wrong. I can’t ask you to be fine knowing nothing about me, especially since I know almost everything about you,” I paused. “I just need some time.”
“And I should have respected that.” He swept a tendril of hair away from my eyes. “I’ll wait, and whenever you’re ready, I will listen to whatever you want to tell me that you haven’t told anyone... well, except for...”
