"I can't?—"
"You can. You're terrified, and that's understandable. But so is he." Sam squeezed her arm. "Someone has to be brave first, Edie. Why not you?"
Before Edie could respond, Sam melted into the crowd, leaving her alone with a half-empty champagne flute and a churning storm of confusion in her chest.
She couldn't do this.
She couldn't.
But her feet were already moving, carrying her across the room like she had no say in the matter. Weaving between tables, dodging servers, closing the distance between her and the one person she'd been trying so hard to avoid.
Tarmek watched her approach.
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there with a glass of something amber in his massive hand, his dark eyes tracking her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"Hi," she said when she reached him. Brilliant opening, Anderson. Really inspired.
"Edie."
Her name in his voice did things to her. Awful, wonderful things. Things she'd been trying to forget since she'd walked out of his apartment.
Condo. He calls it a condo.
"You look..." She trailed off. What was she supposed to say? You look like death warmed over and it's destroying me? You look like you haven't slept in a week and I want to drag you to bed and make you rest? You look like someone broke your heart and I'm terrified it might have been me?
"Terrible," she finished. "You look terrible."
Something flickered in his eyes. "Thank you."
"I didn't mean—" She huffed out a breath. "I meant you look tired. Worn down. Not yourself."
"I haven't been sleeping well."
"Why?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it, and Tarmek's jaw tightened.
"You know why."
Do I?
She wanted to ask. Wanted to demand he explain himself, spell it out in clear terms she couldn't misinterpret. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled up with fear and hope and a desperate desire to believe what his eyes were telling her.
He looks like I feel.
The realization crashed over her like a wave.
She'd spent the last week convincing herself that Tarmek was fine. Happy to have his space back. Relieved to be free of her chaos. She'd pictured him in his immaculate condo, finally able to maintain his precious routines without her messing everything up.
But that wasn't what she was seeing.
She was seeing a man who looked broken.
"Tarmek—"
"Don't." His voice was rough. "Not here. Please."
The "please" undid her. Tarmek Stonefist didn't say please. He issued commands, made declarations, communicated through action and stubborn silence. The fact that he was asking—begging, almost—meant something was seriously wrong.
