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Natalee drew a deep breath, then raised her chin and headed in my direction.
I had my speech, all the reasons she should give me another chance despite all the evidence to the contrary, memorized. I’d gone over it in my head while I showered, letting the water pound out the dissenting voice that told me that I should just let her go.
I eyed those tantalizing curves of hers and I had to wrangle the overwhelming desire to unzip my fly, like she had the last time we were together, and tease every growing, hungry inch of me until I could feel her body wrapped around me again. Until I went back to bliss. The place without words, because my words seemed to keep failing me. I wanted to go to a place where the past was put on hold in favor of an erotic present where we both found the pleasure that erupted when we touched.
From the way she smoothed her blouse and dusted her slacks, her head bowed as she raked her fingers through her brown hair, it became impossible to get a grip on the lust that coursed through me like electricity. It was more than my carnal knowledge of what was beneath all those pesky clothes. More than my curiosity about if she liked it rough. What sounds she’d make if I wrapped those long, dark locks around my fist and tugged.
I wanted her...and the fact that she cared how she looked when I’d want her if she was in one of my t-shirts, hair going this way and that, eyes crusted with sleep, or if she was dressed to the nines, told me that I liked her, too. And if she didn’t like me, she would have told Delia to mind her business, and she wouldn’t have given a damn about her clothes being tidy and professional. She would have marched over like she was on a mission to rip me a new one; hair, clothes, whatever be damned.
Clearing my throat, I stifled my smile as best I could.
From her snarl when she pushed back the curtain, I didn’t stifle it well enough.
Natalee stopped just past the curtain, her arms crossed and combative. “Hello, Jason.”
Even pissed, she turned my name into this throaty, sexy thing. I’d planned on being smooth, not blurting an apology, but all that went out the door as I let out a gravelly, “How’s it going?”
She inched closer. Two tiny steps. She could have wheeled it around and headed back to her table with a scoff, effectively shutting down any delusions of a fresh start. But she was still here.
And still pissed.
“How am I? Well, I’m wondering if I should feel flattered and honored that I caught the attention of a man who would write a check for tens of thousands of dollars just to force me to talk to him again-”
“That’s awfully presumptive of you,” I slipped in, offering her the chair with a wink. “Maybe I’m just dedicated to making the world a better place, one woman at a time.”
She didn’t move a single muscle, except the ones in her face, the sides of her mouth dipping into a scowl. “You haven’t done a single thing in your life that didn’t suit you in some way. If you cared about the mission, you would have made the donation anonymously. Or let your assistant speak on your behalf. Instead, you came here, and made it all about you.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “How benevolent of you. How universally loved you are by women, young and old!”
“I think I could name a woman or two who aren’t big fans of mine.” I clenched my jaw, losing a bit of my playful lilt.
“I think you’re underestimating that number, and definitely overestimating your charm.”
She was taking every gust of wind out of my sails—and I had no one to blame but myself. Jokes, flattery, and charm weren’t getting me out of this one. She saw through all that. I wasn’t used to being called out. Being the one that was pursuing something relentlessly to no avail. And as badly as I wanted to take her by the shoulders and force her to tell me she had no feelings for me, to lie to my face, I knew that was the exact dick move I was known for. Classic Jason.
She made me want to do it differently.
That meant that I’d have to do something that made my gut wrench and my heart do...things. Stuff it hadn’t done in a long time. Things that should have been enough to make me say to hell with this and put as much space between me and vulnerability as possible.
All of her beautiful features, the eyes, round and mysterious; her cheeks that told me she was either upset or struggling to pretend she didn’t care or both; to the lips that were stubborn and currently locked in a sneer—none of it was a match for me when I made up my mind.
I decided to roll the dice.
Stop trying to guide the hands of fate and let what was gonna happen, happen.
I laid it all on the line. “I’ve said my piece-I’m sorry-and if you want me to leave you be, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
Her sneer melted into an O of surprise, her lips trembling. Punched me right in the chest because it finally hit me that the pain she was in was my fault. I’d hurt her, and she would have been well within her right to never let me touch her again. But she had. And that night we spent together, the words that she’d spared after I showed my ass on several occasions? It was more than I deserved.
I thought the apology was two words. ‘I’m sorry’.
Repeating it over and over, until she accepted it and we could move on. But I saw how selfish that concept was in the face of what I’d done. If I was truly sorry, I’d let her go.
I’d own my shit and let the chips fall where they may.
She was still recovering from my statement, wringing her hands as her hair masked her face. Forcing me to wonder if this was the last time we’d see each other. If I should be bold and selfish for a split second and raise her chin, cup her cheek and look into those emerald eyes of hers, just in case this was my last chance.
She sniffed, shooting a hand to her mouth, chewing her nail, and every second was magnified as she slowly lifted her chin from her chest. Her eyes were like sea glass, those cheeks of hers no longer angry, but tinted with emotion, making me wonder how gentle she’d be when she let me down easy.
“Jason,” she began softly, taking a step toward me but keeping her distance. “I should probably walk away. That would be the smart thing to do. But-” She turned a single syllable into something that she stretched into the unknown. “I think I’d regret it if I didn’t give this thing with us, whatever it is, a try.”
