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His gaze pauses in its perusal of my face. “I understand some linguists object to the term on the grounds that it infantilizes women.”
“Is that your objection to the term?”
“No.” He steps closer, reaching up to cup my jaw. “I object to the term because it feels temporary. Impermanent.”
“Oh.”
Whatever else I was going to say gets lost as he lowers his mouth to mine in a kiss that’s sweet and simple and hints at just enough more that I find myself once again breathless.
Wanting this moment to last more than I should, I push against his shoulders and he immediately raises his head.
“Wait. What about Ava?”
“What about her?”
“She was just here. You were about to kiss her not ten minutes ago.” God. I can’t believe I’m saying this. “And she wants you back.”
He stiffens. “What? Is that what that was about?”
Oh, this daft, daft man.
“Did you not get that?”
“I …” He tips his head to the side again. “She kept talking about how lonely she thought I was. And how sorry she was that she hurt me. She didn’t mention getting back together.”
Oh, dear.
Don’t spell it out for him! part of me screams.
If she didn’t know enough about how to communicate with him to get straight to the point, then she doesn’t deserve him!
On the other hand, he needs to know. If she’s the one he wants, if he picks her over me, then he doesn’t deserve me.
I blow out a breath. “She came here—looking like that—because she wants you back. I don’t know if it took her that long to realize how stupid she was to let you go or what, but that’s why she was here. And —” God, this part is going to kill me. “—If you really love her, this is your chance.”
Here I am, holding my breath, waiting to hear his response, and Ian just keeps staring at me.
After a moment, he says, “Okay.”
And then he leans down to kiss me again.
I shove my hands between us. “Okay? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What else should I say?”
“I don’t know. Something more than just okay! You were in love with her! She broke your heart! And now she wants you back, so I think that warrants more than just an okay.”
“Wait. Do you want me to get back together with her?”
“No. God, no! I just … you were in love with her and—”
He steps away, hands propped on his hips. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“What?”
“That I was in love with her.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “I wasn’t.”
“But…” I study him, trying to filter through all the things he’s said and done that lead me to that conclusion. “After she left, you sold your company and moved out here to the lake. You became a recluse.”
