Book 3 - Page 57 (1/2)

Finally, he pulled back to look at me.  Something wild flared in his eyes.  The pain, as it always does, was turning into something akin to rage.

“Last year you told me you were in love with him.  Those words came out of your mouth, directed at me.  You cared about him enough to destroy me with that.  You were planning to marry him, you said.  You felt confident enough about that marriage to tell me, of all people, that it was a foregone conclusion.  What do you imagine that did to me, to hear you say that?  What would the reverse do to you?  Tell me.”

I just shook my head.  I remembered so clearly where I’d been when I’d heard a rumor, just over a year ago, that he and Mona were engaged.  It had messed me up.

Being apart was one thing, but the idea that some other woman could be his wife?  That was out of f**king line.

And I’d planted the same poisonous idea in Tristan’s head about Andrew and me.  I was fully culpable here.  I’d given him that idea, knowing that it was utter nonsense, knowing quite well that it would mess him up like it had me.

I felt guilty enough about it to offer some small recompense.

“First of all, let’s be clear.  You have no claim on our years apart.  You don’t own any of them.”

His golden eyes were filled with a supplication so raw that I couldn’t take it at close range.  One small rant had reduced him from the rage back to the pain.

I pushed him away, wrenching him off me, out of me, scrambled back, then stood, and backed up until my shoulder blades. .h.i.t a wall.

“No claim,” I repeated.  I was naked, but I didn’t even try to cover myself from his eyes.  My body wasn’t the most exposed part of me just then.  I wanted to cover my heart.

“No claim,” I repeated again, voice quavering.  “But of course I didn’t love him.  I wanted to love him, but love is not about want.”

His eyes had gone pure liquid.

I shuddered, then started to s.h.i.+ver, and not from the cold.

“He was good for me, but love is not about good.”

My hand jabbed at him, then at me, then back again, the motion wild, chaotic.  “This is what love gets you, okay?  I cared about Andrew, do care about him, but I walked away clean.”

Lips trembling, voice trembling, I continued, “Love doesn’t let you walk away clean.  Love is messy.  I don’t have to tell you, of all people; Love takes a f**king piece of you before it’s done.”

If it is ever even possible to be done.

I couldn’t say that part aloud.  Fear still held too strong a hold on me, and I respected that fear enough to give it the time it needed.

He rose and moved to me.  His shorts rode low on his hips, the waistband in front still pulled under his s.c.r.o.t.u.m.  He hadn’t bothered to raise them enough to cover his heavy, spent c.o.c.k.  I didn’t think he even noticed.

It was distracting, but not as distracting as the unrelenting glint in his eyes.  His mood had altered with the flip of a switch.

My rant had appeased him, to put it lightly.

I wasn’t sure that had been its desired result.  I’d wanted to solve a problem, not create a new one.

He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes tender enough to break me.

“Come here,” he urged softly, taking his hands away from my face, and opening his arms wide.

With a shuddering sigh, I fell into them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TRISTAN

I wrapped my arms around her and clutched her to my chest, letting her words wash over me, allowing them to soothe me.  She hadn’t been happy to say them, but they still worked as balm to my wounded heart.