Part 11 (1/2)
Still, he wanted so much to kiss her that his chest ached and he couldn't seem to overrule the instinct that was as much emotional as it was physical. He liked her. He just plain liked her. He liked being with her, being part of her life, having her in his life.
He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, telling himself that if he slid them into a simple, uncomplicated romance with no expectation of grandeur, she wouldn't be hurt. He wouldn't be hurt. Both would get what they wanted.
His mouth slid across hers slowly at first, savoring every second of the physical connection that was a manifestation of the depth of his feelings for her. She answered, equally slowly, as if as hesitant as he was, but also as unable to resist the temptation. When the slight meeting of mouths wasn't enough her lips blossomed to life under his, meeting him, matching him, then oh so slowly opening.
It was all the invitation Danny needed. He deepened the kiss, awash with the pleasure of being close to someone as wonderful as Grace. Happiness virtually sang through his veins. Need thrummed through him. For the first time since she'd brought Sarah to him, his thoughts didn't automatically tumble back to their beach house weekend. They stayed in the present, on the moment, on the woman in his arms and the desire to make love. To touch her, to taste her, to cherish every wonderful second. To build a future.
But the second the future came into play, Danny knew he was only deluding himself. He'd tried this once and failed. He'd lost a child, broken his wife. Spent a year mourning his loss alone in the big house so hollow and empty it echoed around him. He knew the reality of loss. How it destroyed a person. Emptied a life. He couldn't go through it again, but more than that, he wouldn't force Grace to.
CHAPTER TEN.
DANNY broke the kiss, quickly rose from the floor and extended his hand to Grace. When she was on her feet, he spun away and Grace's stomach knotted.
”Danny?”
He rubbed both hands down his face. ”Grace, this is wrong.”
”No, it isn't.” Glad for the opportunity to finally discuss their feelings instead of guessing, she walked over and grabbed him by the upper arm, turning him to face her. ”This is us. We like each other. Naturally. We're like toast and b.u.t.ter or salt and pepper. We fit.”
He laughed harshly. ”Fit? Are you sure you want to say you fit with me?”
She didn't hesitate. ”Yes.”
He shook his head. ”Grace, please. Please, don't. Don't fit with me. Don't even want to fit with me. If you were smart you wouldn't even want to be my friend.”
At that her chin came up. If he was going to turn her away again, to deny her his love, or even the chance to be part of his life, this time she would make him explain. ”Why?”
”Because I'm not good for you. I'm not good for anybody.”
”Why?”
He raked his fingers through his short black hair. ”Stop!”
”No. You say you're not good for me. I say you are. And I will not stop pursuing you.”
”Then I'll leave.”
”Great. Run. If that's your answer to everything, then you run.”
He groaned and walked away as if annoyed that she wouldn't let him alone. ”I'm not running. I'm saving you.”
”I don't think you are. I also don't think you're a coward who runs. So just tell me what's wrong!”
He pivoted to face her so quickly that Grace flinched. ”Tell you? Tell you what? That I failed at my marriage and hurt the woman I adored? Tell you that I don't want to do it again?”
His obsidian eyes were bright with pain. His voice seemed to echo from a dark, sacred place. A place of scars and black memories and wounds. A place he rarely visited and never took another person. Still, broken marriages were common. And though she understood his had hurt him, she also suspected even he knew it was time to get beyond his.
Her heart breaking for him, Grace whispered, ”How do you know that you'll fail?”
Stiff with resistance, he angrily countered, ”How do you know that I won't?”
”Because you're good. You may not know it but I see it every day in how you treat me and how you treat Sarah.”
”Grace, you are wrong. I use people. Just ask my ex-wife. She'll tell you I'm a workaholic. If you called her right now, she'd probably even accurately guess that I'm only here because I need to raise my daughter because I need an heir. Carson Services needs an heir.”
”Well, she'd be wrong. If you only wanted to raise Sarah because Carson Services needs an heir you could take me to court.”
”Unless I didn't want you digging into my past.”
That stopped her.
”What if this is all about me not wanting you to take me to court?” he asked, stepping close. ”What if there is something so bad in my past that I know even you couldn't forgive it?”
She swallowed. Possibilities overwhelmed her. Not only did having a hidden sin in his past explain why he agreed to live with her and their daughter when letting his lawyers handle their situation would have been much easier, but it also explained why he always stepped back, always denied himself and her.
Still, she couldn't imagine what he could have done. He wasn't gentle and retiring by any means. But he also wasn't cruel or vindictive. He wasn't the kind to take risks or live on the edge. She might have told herself to stop guessing, to quit ascribing characteristics to him he didn't deserve, but she'd also lived with him for a week. Almost fifteen hours a day. She'd seen him choose to make breakfast, choose to bathe Sarah, choose to give Grace breaks. She didn't believe he could be cruel or do something so horrible it couldn't be forgiven.
She took a breath, then another. ”I don't think there is something in your past that can't be forgiven.”
”What if I told you that I killed my son?”
Her heart in her throat, more aware of the pain that would cause him than any sort of ramification it would have on their relations.h.i.+p, she said, ”You couldn't have killed your son.”
”It was an accident, but the accident was my fault.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut. An accident that was his fault. Of course. That accounted for so many things in his life and how he had treated her that before this hadn't added up.
But accidents were circ.u.mstances that somehow got out of someone's control. He hadn't deliberately killed his child. He couldn't deliberately kill his child. That was why he was so tortured now.
”Danny, it wasn't your fault.”
His eyes blazed. ”Don't you forgive me! And don't brush it off as if my son's life was of no consequence. I was in charge of him that morning. I knew he was in the mood to push me. He wanted to remove the training wheels from his bike and I refused, but he kept arguing, begging, pleading. When my cell phone rang, I should have ignored it. But my natural reaction kicked in, I grabbed it, answered it and gave him the chance to prove to me how good he was on his bike by darting out into the street right into the path of an SUV.”
He paused, raked his fingers through his hair again and his voice dropped to a feather-light whisper. ”A neighbor hit him. She doesn't come out of her house now. I ruined a lot of lives that morning.”
The tick of the clock was the only sound in the room. Grace stood frozen, steeped in his pain, hurting for him.
”Not quite as sure of me now, are you?”
She swallowed. ”It wasn't your fault.”
He ran his hands down his face. ”It was my fault. And I live with it every day. And I miss my son and I remember the look on my wife's face.” Seeming to be getting his bearings, he blew his breath out on a long gust and faced her. ”And I won't do that to you.”