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He called to the boys, “Okay, you two keep practicing with that ball. I’ll be back in just a sec.”
He tried not to run off the field, but as he closed in on Matt, he said softly, “I just saw Cammie go inside. I think she might be feeling bad about her uncle. I’ll just check it out.”
Matt rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the best damn boss I’ve ever known.” Then he looked at his wife, her hand on her pregnant belly, and he smiled softly. “Except maybe for me when it comes to Noah’s nanny.”
All Dane could think about was getting to Cammie.
* * *
Cammie stood for a long moment in the hallway powder room. She patted her cheeks, checking the mirror to make sure there was no sign of tear tracks. She hadn’t exactly cried. Her eyes were just a little misty and her nose a little runny. But she was fine now. In control of herself again.
An outside door slammed, and self-consciousness flushed her cheeks. How long had she been gone?
She opened the bathroom door.
Dane was in the hall. “You okay?” His voice was raspy with something she couldn’t define.
Before she could open her mouth to say she was fine—even if she wasn’t—he enveloped her in his powerful arms.
Lord help her, he felt so good she wanted to weep.
“I saw you rush inside.” His breath against her ear sent a delicious shiver traveling down her spine. “Maybe bringing you here was too soon,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re still mourning your uncle. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think of that. I just thought it would be good for you to get out and have a fun afternoon by the pool.”
She couldn’t tell him this had nothing to do with Uncle Lochlan. She still missed him. She always would. But she couldn’t tell Dane that her emotions had been all about imagining the child she held in her arms was his, a child they’d made together. As she’d stood in the bathroom, mist in her eyes, she’d envisioned walking down the aisle and taking his hand.
She could never tell him that. She couldn’t tell him she wanted so much more than just being his PA. She had no idea how she could ever get it, and yet, she didn’t know how to go on without it.
The thought just made her hug him even tighter. Until she could feel the beat of his heart as if it were her own.
He rubbed her back, whispered soothing words in her ear. She could barely hear them as hopelessness washed over her. He was holding her only because he was a compassionate man providing comfort to an employee who’d recently lost her uncle. Literally, he hadn’t made a move in twelve years. Maybe he didn’t think that night had been as good as she remembered it.
A terrible thought struck her.
If he was as into me as I am now willing to admit I’m into him, he would have made a move long ago.
She’d been overwhelmed with concern for her uncle, taking care of him, making sure the last years of his life were as good as she could make them. But Dane had no such compunction. If he’d wanted her at all, wouldn’t he have shown her in some way? There’d been moments when she’d felt the tension, the need, the desire. When everything in the room had stilled and they’d leaned a little too close, and she’d thought maybe… But it never happened. And then she’d remember the rules. He’d never even tried to break them.
It could mean only one thing. That Dane wasn’t into her.
She hadn’t made a move either, true, but she had big reasons. Other than keeping his work life on track, what reason did Dane have? Just the women he liked to date.
At that thought, she wanted to slip out of his arms, but Dane held her tight.
It had been so long since she’d been held like this—his arms enveloping her, his back strong against her fingers, his heart beating against her ear, his deliciously musky male scent making her dizzy. She couldn’t bear to move. Couldn’t bear to push him away.
Yet her mind drifted back to all his women over the years. She’d died a little inside every time. She’d waited, even prayed, for each relationship to end, as awful as that was. She truly wanted him to be happy. She’d consoled herself with the thought that he hadn’t seemed overjoyed to be with any of them. And she’d dated, too, had even had two serious relationships, one before Dane, one after. But now she knew deep in her heart, deep in her soul, that neither had been the one. When Arlo Doyle had cheated on her—how long ago had it been? Seven years. It said a lot that she had to think about how long. She could see now that her despair had been all about the fact that Arlo had lied, not that he might have been the man she would spend the rest of her life with.
