Page 64 of Cabin Fever
I don’t smile, my blue eyes piercing.
“I wrote it for you.”
She doesn’t answer, just stands there, breathing.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know what the next line is supposed to be.
I swallow, hard. “Do you want to talk?”
She shrugs, the movement making her tits bounce in a way that kills me. “Is there anything left to say?”
I nod. “Yeah. Everything.”
She bites her lip, then gives the smallest of nods.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding since she walked in.
“Then let’s talk, Kat. Please.”
I’m not a man who generally begs, but at this point, the golden goddess has me writhing in her hand. She looks at me, blue eyes so clear it hurts.
“Five minutes,” she says. “That’s all.”
I nod, pulse thundering, as the crowd fades and it’s just the two of us.
And for the first time since I let her go, I feel something close to hope.
We retreatto a small area behind a towering shelf. It’s relatively quiet, and I suppose this is as good of a place as any.
“You look tired,” Kat murmurs, her hands folded demurely.
I grin. “You should see the other guy.”
She’s trying to be angry, but it’s not sticking. Her lips twitch, and I remember the way she used to bite them when she was nervous.
“Why did you do it?” she asks. “Why write a romance? If I remember correctly, you were only under contract for a thriller.”
I want to give her a clever answer, a line from the jacket copy, but the truth comes out raw.
“I missed you,” I say. “I missed you so fucking much I had to build you from scratch just to get through the day.”
She blinks, then shakes her head, like she can’t believe I’m this much of a disaster. “That’s not healthy, Talon.”
“I know,” I say. “But it’s true.”
She uncrosses her arms, hands at her sides now. “You broke me,” she says, voice quiet. “I want you to know that. I didn’t think I’d ever be okay again.”
I nod. “I know. And I’ll never forgive myself.”
She looks away, at the mural over the fireplace. It’s a painting of the town in winter—empty streets, bare trees, a sky the color of old newspaper.
“You know what the worst part was?” she says. “It wasn’t the lies, or the roleplay, or the sex. It was that you made me believe I could be something more, and then you just stopped. It was like it was all fake, and everything you said was a lie to get me into bed. Like you’d spun a story and when the music stopped, I was left with nothing but illusions.”
I step closer. “I never stopped. I just didn’t know how to tell you that I’d fallen for you.”
She laughs, a little bitter. “You wrote a whole fucking novel, Talon. You know how to communicate.”
I laugh too, but it hurts. “You’re right. I’m a coward, and my timing has always been off. I didn’t act in the moment, and I regret that. I regret so much, Kitten.”
