Page 20 of The Unwilling Bride
Then she firms her lips. “You did the right thing. If you hadn’t left that day, I would not have pursued my career with so much vengeance. ‘Course I never thought I’d be working for you either.”
Our gazes meet, hold. Awareness prickles under my skin. Something heavy laces the air between us.
The memories of her taste, of how she felt in my arms, her little moans as I kissed her all those years ago crowd my mind. My muscles bunch. My breathing grows shallow.
I know she, too, must be remembering how much we both enjoyed spending time together that night. How we clicked on so many different levels.
Could I have acted differently?
Should I have given whatever was between us a chance? I push the thought away.
What’s done is done. I’m not one to regret the past. What I do regret is that I let her think that I walked away from her because she was a virgin. Because I was worried that if we slept together she might get too attached to me. When really, it was I who was in danger of getting too attached to her.
I was protecting myself from being hurt. That’s why I left.
I rub the back of my neck.
The movement pulls the sleeve of my chef jacket tight across my arm. Her gaze drops to my bicep before she can stop herself. Her throat works as she swallows.
The reaction lands low in my gut.
Damn.
Her every response feeds that hunger in me. Something I’m not sure how much longer I can keep contained.
I lower my arm to my side.
The movement seems to snap her out of it. Her eyes flick back to my face, and her expression shutters, as if she just realized I noticed her reaction.
For a second, she just stares at me, those green eyes wide and bright.
Then she tosses her head. “My only regret is that we didn’t get the chance to find out how we could have been together, and that will always haunt me.”
Sadness glimmers in her eyes. Hurt paints her features.
Why does her being upset affect me so much? My chest tightens, my heart thundering within. I draw in a breath, and my lungs burn.
It’s a sign that my emotions are dangerously close to the surface. I need to find a way to get them back under control.
I tap my pen three times on the desk.
The familiarity of the gesture calms me. I find I can breathe again.
This is why I left. She triggered an emotional intensity in me that made me feel out of control. I’m better equipped to manage it now. Enough that I invited her back into my life.
“I did the right thing.” I say it aloud for myself as much as for her.
She watches my hand with curiosity.
I stop tapping and place the pen down on the desk.
Not too many people notice my little tells that I use to cope with my OCD. But she did.
“It’s water under the bridge.” She raises her gaze to my face again. “You gave me a job, despite our history together. I’m grateful for that.”
She doesn’t want to talk about what happened that night. That’s good.
We didn’t have a relationship. We didn’t even sleep together, yet she left an undeniable impression on me.
