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“Are you prepared for things to continue the way they were?” I demand.
“No,” she says.
“Do you think he can change?”
“I don’t know.” She presses the heel of her hand between her brows, over her bindi. “I just feel that I have to try. I owe him that, don’t I?”
“Are you really asking me?”
She gives a short laugh and lowers her hand. “No.”
“You’ve given him seven years and plenty of chances to change, and to treat you the way you want—no, you deserve—to be treated. But he hasn’t. You don’t owe him anything.”
She trembles, giving a shaky sigh, and rubs her nose. I’m so frustrated, I want to shake her, to force some sense into her. But instead I can only stand there, aching for her, feeling as if she’s on a raft caught by a riptide that’s going to sweep her away.
I wait for her to turn, or even order me to leave.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she moves forward the short distance that’s separating us and rests her forehead on my shoulder.
Shocked, I stand there for a few seconds, not sure how to respond. As she doesn’t move away, though, I slowly lift my arms around her.
Moving up close, she turns her head and rests her cheek on my shoulder. Aaahhh… she feels small and slight in my arms, and I feel an overwhelming urge to protect her.
I rub her back, moving my hand in a circle, and she nestles against me and sighs, almost purring. It strikes me then—this girl is touch-starved, hungry for affection, obviously having had to live for years with a man who abhors physical contact.
And that’s how I’m going to win. Because I have oceans of tenderness and love to give her.
“Ah, baby,” I murmur, continuing to stroke her back. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through this.”
“It’s so hard…” she whispers.
“I know.”
In business, if there’s something I want, I’m not shy in using my money, my influence, my position, or my physical size to walk in and take it. But I think of what Alex said: don’t come down too heavy on her. I can’t force her hand. So I’m going to have to come at it some other way.
“I’m sorry about the things I said yesterday,” I tell her softly. “I’m used to getting what I want, and I don’t like being told no.”
She gives a small laugh. “I know. And I’m really sorry too. I’m just so mixed up. I’ve liked you for so long, and last night was amazing. But I shouldn’t have done it. I… I don’t want to lose you.”
I push aside my instinct to force her to choose between us. If I do that, I’m pretty sure she’s going to choose him.
Instead, I say, “You won’t lose me. I’m frustrated because I think we’d be really good together, but I’m not about to sever all connection with you if you don’t leave him. I’m your friend first. I’ll always be there for you.”
Is it true? I don’t know. If she stays with him, I think something inside me might actually die, withering away like a tree without sunshine or rain. I don’t know if I can continue to work beside her every day, knowing she’s going home to a guy who doesn’t love her the way she wants to be loved.
But right now, she needs my love and support, and I have to be the bigger guy.
I’m six-foot-four; I’m always the bigger guy. I’m fucking used to it.
“Oh God,” she says. She turns her head and rests her forehead on my shoulder again. Then she moves back. Her eyes are wet, and she dashes the tears away angrily. “You don’t mean that,” she snaps.
“I do.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re not that honorable.”
“Hey, I’m exactly that honorable.”
“Henry! Stop it! Stop being nice to me. I can’t deal with it. I can’t think when you’re close to me.” She backs away. “You do something to my brain—you scramble the signal.” She presses the heel of her hand to her temple. “There’s more to a relationship than heat and passion and excitement.”
