This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with her.
Not with anyone.
Not after someone had promised forever and left him behind with a broken heart and a two-year-old girl asking why her mommy didn’t come back.
But Daphne Austen made him want to believe again.
To yield to his heart.
And that terrified him.
Her fingers slipped back to caress his ears, inciting the tiniest moan from him. He nearly brought the kiss to a close on that ground alone.
He never lost control. Not anymore. Not with women. Not when so much was at stake.
And yet...
He’d seen something in her eyes. It looked a little too much like faith.
In him.
It slammed into him like a fist to the gut, an unspoken request demanding a reply he couldn’t... wouldn’t give.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard, eyes locked on hers.
She blinked up at him, dazed. Cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and utterly beautiful.
He almost leaned in again.
She searched his face, and some sort of dawning shifted her expression. She stepped back. Just a small step, but it felt like a chasm.
A sudden sheen glossed her eyes—brief, blinked away—but it stabbed through him.
He’d made a monumental mistake.
He hadn’t counted the cost.
“I...” Her fingers trembled to her lips as she retreated another step. “I shouldn’t have let that happen.”
Panic scraped at his ribs. His heart scrambled for cover—for a joke. A deflection. Anything to cover the searing vulnerability. “That bad, was it?”
She let out a shaky half laugh—but the accompanying smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“No,” she whispered. “It was... great.”
A beat passed. Then another.
“Too great. For me.”
That hit harder than he expected.
Because he didn’t want her to think that. Didn’t want her to regret this.
“Daphne—”
She held up a hand, halting him. Her eyes met his again, and the heat from before was gone. Replaced with something bruised.
He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach for her. To fix it. Comfort her. Undo the damage.
