Page 61 of My Unfinished Heart

“Mainly women. A few guys. But not for a while. Is that what’s bugging you?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath. “Is that what’s bugging you?”

“Nothing’s bugging me—Tristan—shit. I like you more than anything. I want you—fuck—so much.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because—you hugged me less than five minutes after we met. You didn’t call the police when I climbed your tree. You held my fucking hand when I thought the world was ending. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because maybe you’re just as lost in all this as your brother is.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” I say quickly. It’s not something I have to think about. What’s happening with Tristan feels separate from everything else, and in a lot of ways, it feels more important, too.

“Maybe we should go back in,” he says, sounding defeated.

Without another word, he stands and opens the door. I wait for him to go in first, deciding to let him choose how this night ends up. If he starts gathering his things, I won’t fight him. If he goes to the bed, I probably won’t fight that either. It’s all in his hands, though I’m pretty sure I’ve tortured him enough for one night.

I watch through the glass as he looks around the room, eyes lingering on his shoes. The bed.

He sits.

I exhale and get up. When I’m inside, and the door to the balcony is closed, I move to sit beside him. Surprising me, he slides his hand between both of mine. If this is how we spend the entire night, I’m a hundred percent okay with it.

I angle my head so I can see his face. “Can I be really honest with you?”

With a nervous breath, he gives me a short nod.

“After what happened in the kitchen the other night—this didn’t feel like a possibility anymore. At least not anytime soon. If I’d known we’d be here now… But I didn’t know that, and I did what I did, and if it changes how you feel, I understand.”

“Did you think about me when you were with her?”

“Tristan…”

“Did you wish it was me?”

I tell him the unvarnished truth. “The whole point of being with her was to stop thinking about you.”

His lips part, and I can’t tell if he hates me now, or appreciates my honesty. Or if he doubts it. “What’s gonna happen when I go?” he finally asks.

“I’m gonna miss you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just studies me. And then, “I think you will.”

I swallow hard, grateful he believes that, at least.

His hand slips out of mine and moves to stroke the inside of my thigh beneath my shorts. It feels so fucking good. I close my eyes and slide a hand under the back of his shirt. Once I’m hard again, in as smooth of a seduction as I’ve ever experienced, he turns and eases his way onto my lap, a straddle, both hands on my waist, his face inches from mine. “I need more than a promise.”

I nod. Because whatever he needs to make sure he comes back, I can do. The only thing I can’t handle tonight is the thought of never seeing him again, never getting another chance to feel the way he makes me feel—known, understood, and forgiven.

Taking his hips in a tight grip, I pull him closer until our stomachs touch. Until his cock is right on top of mine. Our noses meet. I press my mouth softly against his. “Take anything you want from me. Whatever you need.”

His kiss cracks me open, and I swear he does—he reaches inside and takes something. One more thing for me to miss.

“I need all of it,” he whispers, his fingers gliding through my hair. “Everything.”

My heart soars, and also somehow sinks. “I knew you were gonna say that.”

He kisses me again, and I start to fall backward. Using all my will power and what’s left of my strength, I roll us over. I drag his lower lip with me as I pull away to take in the vision of him beneath me. The smooth tan of his skin, the curve of his eyelids, the dark pink of his mouth, the golden glow of his hair in the lamp-lit room. I take it all in.