She cocks her head when too many seconds pass without a response. “Is that not what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“After how angry you were toward me the night before the wedding, I’m surprised you’d be okay with hooking up while I’m in town.” Hello, deflection, my old friend.
Now it’s Cate who is silent. Then she exhales while wrapping her arms around her middle. A self-protective position she may not have consciously taken. “I didn’t know you’d be at the party. Seeing you after six hears of holding on to a lot of big feelings threw me for a loop. As for being okay with having short-term casual sex with you, I’m old enough and wise enough to know there’ll be an emotional price to pay when you leave. But I’m prepared for it this time, and our circumstances are different.”
“Are they?”
If a singular release of breath can be considered derisive, hers is the example. “Of course they are. You’re no longer chasing a dream with a question of whether or not you’ll makea career in the music business; you’ve achieved world-famous rock star status.”
“That’s my circumstances. You said ‘our.’ What’s different about yours?”
Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, I can almost see her choosing how to answer.
“This time, I’m prepared for the goodbye. For you to leave and not come back,” she says, tilting her chin ever so slightly higher.
The same unanswered questions I’ve had since that night six years ago sit on the tip of my tongue. Asking them would take this night in a different direction. Maybe blow a hole in this careful new peace we’ve achieved.
Besides, there’s a more relevant question that needs asking. “What if that’s not what I have in mind?”
Her fair eyebrows rise, then descend just as quickly. “Ah, of course. You’ll come back from time to time to see your niece or nephew, or plural, if Ogram and Hope have more than one child, which is likely if all continues to go well with her pregnancy. So, this goodbye would be a pause, or more accurately, consecutive pauses of undetermined length, and I’d be your Harmony Glen booty call.”
“No. Fuck no.” The bar’s polished wood squeaks beneath my tightening grip. “You think I would treat you with such disrespect?”
“I think you’re an incredibly sexy man who travels a lot and hasn’t had any public relationships, and I know you wouldn’t cheat with me or anyone if you were in a private relationship, so I assume you’re having your needs met in a casual manner. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Heat swirls in my gut. At her indifference. At the implications of that indifference. “Is that what you have been doing? Enjoying casual gratification?”
“My personal life in your absence is none of your business, Grüsh.”
Tell her everything, or risk losing something you cannot replace with success, money, and fame, the voice in my head says.
Exhaling, I flex the fingers on my hand that isn’t clenching the bar with a viselike grip. “I know it’s not.”
“Good.” The furrows that deepened at the bridge of her nose recede. “Because I’m still wildly attracted to you, as I’m sure you’re already aware due to your heightened sense of smell, and I’d very much like you to fuck me. But I won’t give in to that urge if you think that indulging in our chemistry entitles you to anything outside of the moment.”
Tell her, the nagging voice demands.
But how can I when she’s making it pretty damn clear that she has let go of what was deeper between us. “That’s what you want—just sex? A temporary, casual scratching of an old itch?”
Tilting her head, her expression and posture soften, and she places her palms on my chest. “It could never be ‘just sex’ with you.”
“Nor with you,” I say, pulling her against me. Gods, she feels so good in my arms. The rightness of it unfurls, spreading to every nerve ending, every cell of my being. “I have missed you, Catherine. Every part of you, with every part of me.”
“I’ve missed you the same way,” she whispers, her words mingling with my breath as I dip down and brush my lips across hers. She slides her hands upward, her fingernails igniting a trail of sparks on the back of my neck before she threads her fingers through my hair. “Tonight, let’s pretend the past six years don’t exist, and we never said goodbye.”
“I can do that.” I want to touch her everywhere, but her beautiful face is my first stop. Cupping it between my hands,I sweep the pads of my thumbs across her skin. “Soft, like I remember.”
“You used to say it was like touching a ripe peach.”
“Still is.” Trailing my fingers down the delicate column of her neck elicits a shiver. “I used to say you taste sweet and juicy like a peach too.” I run my palms along the sides of her breasts, then down her ribcage to her waist, where I gather the edge of her floral shirt and guide it off her body. “Pretending no time has passed will be easy when you look exactly the same.”
“Good thing for dim lighting,” she says with a light laugh. “This forty-two-year-old skin has a few more spots and creases than my thirty-six-year-old skin did.”
“You looked perfect then and you still do.”
Another shiver ripples through her as I trace the upper edge of her white bra.
“Bet you don’t get utilitarian bras like this thrown onstage. Clearly, I wasn’t planning for my night to take this turn when I got dressed for work.”
