by Lori Foster
“If you’d rather not, we could grab a coffee or a drink.”
He watched her, waiting for an answer, the silence enveloping them. But it felt nothing like her earlier encounter with Mitch. Uncomfortable, yes. And awkward, the awkwardness pushing out from inside her until it hurt to breathe. But this time she didn’t wish for the ground to swallow her. She felt as though she could stay here forever as long as he was watching her. As long as he was here.
“We can talk inside,” she murmured, mortified that she even had to say that. After all their easy hours together, all those months of friendship, he had to ask if she’d feel comfortable seeing him in private. How the hell had they come to this?
She walked toward the staircase, so aware of him behind her. She’d always been aware. That he was right there. Nearby. She’d always been able to feel him. Even when she’d been renting the apartment from him, she’d been able to feel him working in the gallery below. The guilt of it had eaten at her, but not enough to overtake that awareness.
Her back tingled, telling her he was about to touch her, that he was reaching for her right now. But she’d learned to ignore that feeling, because it had never happened. And it wouldn’t happen now. It was a lie.
Hands numb and heart pounding, she opened the door, fumbling with the keys and then the doorknob, as if there were something complicated about turning it to the right. But she finally made it in and he followed her inside. He still looked grim, his wide mouth flat and his gaze moving away from her.
Why the hell was he here? She felt suddenly panicked by the thought and wanted to scream at him, demand an answer. But more than anything, she wanted him to think it didn’t matter. That she was cool and calm and strong. That she hadn’t lost everything when he’d walked away.
Jesus, how sad was that? There hadn’t been anything to lose in the first place.
He took a moment to look around; his eyes seemed to touch on a hundred things. The apartment wasn’t neat and orderly, but it never had been, so she let him take in the cameras and lenses and photo books scattered between the magazines and occasional abandoned coffee cup.
“Can I take your coat?” Her voice sounded weak.
He nodded, still not meeting her gaze as he slipped off his jacket and handed it to her. The warm leather swallowed her hands, and the scent of him rose over her so unexpectedly that she had to close her eyes. Oh, God, she’d forgotten that. The smell of his skin. Pain bloomed deep inside her belly and nearly made her knees buckle.
She’d finally gotten over him, and now he’d returned, and for a moment she hated everything about him. Every kindness he’d shown, every wry smile that had forced laughter from her.
He’d made her remember the scent of his skin. Was there anything crueler than that? She hated him and loved him.
Her eyes burned with tears, so she blinked rapidly and hurried toward the closet to hang up both of their coats.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes,” he said before she could even finish the sentence, as if he were just as stressed as she was.
She rushed to the kitchen and poured two glasses of red wine, stealing a gulp from hers before she even recorked the bottle.
“I remember this one,” he said, gesturing toward a photo mounted on the wall.
“The ghost town,” Eve said, trying to steady herself before she joined him in the living room. “It’s being restored now.”
“Really? I’m not sure how I feel about that. It was perfect the way it was. Eye of the beholder, I guess.”
They’d spent the whole day at that ghost town as he’d taught her old-school photography techniques she’d been using digital tricks to achieve. She’d taken hundreds of photos. This one was her favorite. She’d shot a few of Brian when he wasn’t looking, and those were locked away on a thumb drive somewhere. She’d nearly deleted the pictures permanently after the night she’d accidentally run across them while going through files.
She didn’t tell him that she was happy the ghost town would never be the same again. But she was.
When she handed him a glass and directed him to the couch, he waited for her to sit. She took the chair.
“You look good, Eve. Amazing, actually.”
She sipped her wine and said a silent thank-you to Grace for forcing her to go to that party. If she hadn’t, Brian would’ve dropped by to find her in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, her hair still damp from the bath. And not a speck of makeup to cover the fact that she was older and more tired than she’d been the last time they’d seen each other.
She needed to give Grace another raise.
“You look good,” she said. “I hope things are going well for you.”
He sipped his wine before he set the glass down and met her eyes. “Julia and I finally worked out our differences. We finalized the divorce two months ago.”
“But...” Those two sentences didn’t go together. She didn’t know how to react. She wouldn’t know how to react even if she was sure what he’d meant.
His mouth tipped up in the faintest of smiles. “At long last, we’re getting along. We had drinks a week ago. It was nice.”
“So...you came to tell me that you two are divorced and dating?”
“No! No. We’re divorced and friends. She bought out my share of the gallery in Raleigh. I’ve spent the past six months showing her the ropes with the finances and paperwork.”
“Well, congratulations, I guess.”
He frowned. She frowned back. She’d never known how she’d feel about Brian finally getting divorced, but she hadn’t expected to feel so numb. “Thanks for letting me know,” she said into the silence.
“Eve.”
“What?” she bit out.
“I don’t know what I’m doing back here in Jackson. I only know that I had no choice. I had to come back. I had to find out.”
Her heart beat harder, faster, but she still felt nothing. Nothing except that pulsing beat in her chest. “It’s been two years.”
“I had to try with Julia.”
“I know that,” she snapped, but deep down inside, she didn’t know. She didn’t understand why there’d had to be one more shot at it. He’d been on his third separation from Julia when Eve had come to work at his photography gallery. Julia had lived two thousand miles away in Raleigh. She’d come to Jackson only once that year, and meeting her had been a blow to Eve’s conscience. And her confidence.
Julia was a true artist who saw beauty and conflict and emotion in everything. She was wild and spontaneous and confident. Eve, on the other hand, looked at her own best work and saw a need for improvement. She wondered if she could call it art at all. She was steady and analytical and good with numbers. She knew she had passion and life, but it was a quiet sort of wildness that no one ever seemed to notice. Even her photography was quiet. Pictures of the corners of life that no one else saw.
That was Eve.
Julia, on the other hand... Eve had never wondered why Brian had loved Julia. The woman was a flame. Eve just couldn’t understand why he hadn’t gotten tired of being burned, even when he’d had the option of something safer. Especially then.
“I had to try,” he said again.
“Of course.” She said it quietly, but she wanted to scream it. Of course he’d had to try again. Because the smallest chance with a woman like Julia was worth more than a sure thing with someone like Eve, any day.
The thought was so ugly and honest that she had to swallow back tears. Regret at her own selfish hurt filled her up. “She was your wife,” she rushed to say. “Your first love. I understand.”
He nodded. “I had to know it had ended honestly, Eve. Without any distraction or interference.”
“Yes. That’s what you said in your letter. I remember.”
“You never wrote back.”
“What was I supposed to say?”
He shook his head, the harsh planes of his face angry in the shadows of the dim lamp next to him. “Jesus, Eve. Anything. You were supposed to say anything.”
“There was nothing to say,” she bit out. “You told me you had feelings for me. For the first time you admitted you felt something more than friendship, and you were already gone. What was I supposed to do with that?”
“Eve—”
“You were already gone! You should never have told me any of that.”
“I had to. You were my best friend. I had to tell you.”
“Your best friend?” she snapped. “You walked away from me. That letter made everything worse. It made me want things we couldn’t have. You just left me here and went on with your life.”
“I had to try to fix my marriage.”
“I know that!” she yelled, jumping up from the couch to rush to the kitchen for more wine.
“Eve.” He moved toward her as she uncorked the bottle. She stared down at the empty glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. Her hands shook too hard to pour it.
“It’s over now. Julia and I both gave it the best we had. Maybe we tried too hard. Maybe not hard enough. I don’t know. But it’s over now. She’s dating again, and I...”
Eve finally managed to pour the wine. She let his words hover there and took a long drink. She hated the hope that snuck deep into her veins. She hated it and she wouldn’t indulge it. Closing her eyes, she shook her head, but Brian still spoke.
“I’d like a chance, Eve. If you’re not seeing someone else. Hell, even if you are. I’d like a chance to find out if this is something.”
She shook her head again, harder this time.
He cleared his throat. “Actually, that’s not right. I know it’s something, at least for me. I’d like to see if it’s something for you, too.”
“No,” she finally said, the word bursting from her on a wave of panic.
“I know it’s not right. How it started. The way we felt. We should have stopped being friends. I should’ve been strong enough to walk away from you before I did, but you were so... God, I felt at peace with you, Eve. Content. But fucking tortured, too. Please, Eve, just...”
He touched her then. He touched her. His warm fingers closed over her wrist with no force at all, just a question. Just a hope.
Oh, God. God, it felt like atoms colliding. Like energy being created in some heretofore undiscovered way. The force of it surged into her veins and heat suffused her whole body. It was all she’d ever wanted. His hands on her. His warmth tangling with hers.
Her lips parted so she could draw more air as she watched his thumb slide over her racing pulse. Could he feel that? Did he know?
“I can’t,” she said.
“Yes, you can.” His voice had gone dark and rough. “You want it, too. For a long time, I wasn’t sure how you felt. I told myself we were just friends, that friendship was all you wanted, and my fantasies were just that. Fantasies. But once I was sure... Jesus, it was all I could think about, Eve. Wondering how you’d react if I kissed you. Wondering how it would be for us.”
She pulled her arm away. “I can’t.”
“If you need time—”
“I can’t. You should go. I can’t do this. Just...” She hurried toward the bathroom, cradling her warm wrist, trying to hold on to feelings she didn’t even want. She shut the door and locked it, needing to shut him out.
He was so wrong. Wrong that she’d only wanted to be friends. Wrong that he was the only one fantasizing. And wrong that she could do this now.
She’d buried all those feelings. She couldn’t resurrect them now. He’d left her alone in this damn place with all these memories. He’d had a life and a companion and a new place where he could think without seeing her in every corner. He’d gotten that space he’d needed. The space that men always seemed to take as their right. She’d been left with his ghost and the cruelest of goodbyes. I think I’m falling in love with you. I have to leave.
Everything she’d wanted, laid out just beyond her reach. What the hell had he wanted her to say? Please leave your wife? Please choose me?
Eve put her hands to the sink and leaned close to the mirror. “Fuck him,” she said to her own pale reflection. He couldn’t just leave and then step back into her life because he was finally ready. Hey, baby. Thanks for staying on that shelf I left you on. I’m ready now. “Fuck him,” she growled again, glaring into her own eyes. But her eyes failed to convey the hurt and rage she felt. They looked as plain as ever. Brown and a little weary and sad.
Because she hated herself more than him. Hated how much she wanted to sob with relief and fall into his arms. God, that would feel so good. To finally be held by him. To smell the scent of his skin, not because she was holding his jacket, but because he was holding her. She wanted to give in and cry, “Thank you for coming back!”
She was disgusting. And he was an arrogant asshole. And it was too late for them, even if it had never been the right time before.
He knocked on the bathroom door and anxiety exploded through her.
“Eve, are you okay?”
“You h-have to go,” she stammered.
“Eve—”
“Please! I can’t do this, Brian. I swear, I can’t. It’s been too long and I don’t feel that way anymore. It was a mistake. It wasn’t real.”
“It was real.”
She backed away from the door, afraid he’d get past the lock and push through. If he did, if he held out his arms, she’d... “No. Please just go.”
“Come out. Please. Let’s talk.”
She shook her head, unable to force even the smallest word past her tight throat.
He was silent for a long time, then she heard a quiet vibration of sound, as if he’d put his hand to the door. Or his forehead. “Eve, I’m begging you. I’m begging you for a chance.”
He didn’t sound as if he was begging. He’d likely never done it before and didn’t know how it should be approached. He wasn’t a man who begged. But she’d begged before. She’d gotten on her knees and begged God to let things work out for them. To let her have what she wanted. And then...to let her forget she’d ever wanted it.
She knew what begging sounded like. Weak and broken and so desperate you wished you were dead. Brian sounded only determined.
“No,” she said, and it felt good for that one brief moment.
He drew a deep breath. She heard the shush of something against the wood, his forehead or fingertips or sleeve. Then he walked away. At first, his footsteps were a relief, but as they moved farther away, her relief gave way to fear. He was leaving. She heard him open the closet for his coat, then move back to the kitchen, where he paused for a moment.
He was about to leave, and what if he never came back? She didn’t want to love him, but the idea that she would never touch him was brand-new again in that moment. New and awful and taking over everything inside her.
She wanted him so badly it was a solid weight in her body. She wanted to touch him, taste him, let him inside her. She wanted to feel his mouth and hands and cock.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth to hold back a groan of pain.
She wanted him that way. Needed it. It would never, ever leave her, as long as she lived. It hadn’t faded at all.
The front door opened. She lunged forward. She jerked the bathroom door wide, but he was gone, her door already shut and Brian out in the night.
Taking a deep breath, she rushed for the front door. When she opened it, she found him standing there, head down, his wide back filling her vision before he turned.
“One night,” she said.
“What?” Snowflakes drifted through the black behind him, glinting when they caught the
light from her apartment.
She swallowed hard and made herself say it again. “One night. But that’s it. Nothing else. No love or promises or hope. Just one night to get this out of our systems.”
“That’s not going to work, Eve.”
“It has to. I’m not going to give you anything else. Just sex.”
She thought he’d be pleased with that, at least, but he looked furious. “It won’t be just sex.”
“It has to be. Take it or leave it.”
“Are you involved with someone? Is that what this is about?”
“Just give me an answer. Yes or no.”
For a long, terrifying moment, she thought he’d say no. The hard edge of his jaw jumped with rage. He didn’t like being backed into a corner, and she was remembering now that his wife had been fond of ultimatums. Well, that was too damn bad. But if he wasn’t going to budge on this, then what would Eve do? Now that she’d had the idea, she couldn’t give it up. She needed this. She couldn’t just go on with her life, never knowing what it was to have him.
She waited.
“Fine,” he finally bit out. He started to step forward and she held up a hand.
“Not here. Not in my bed.”
“Jesus Christ. Are you kidding me?”
“No. I’ll come to your hotel. I can’t have any more memories of you here.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and his lips pressed hard together. A heartbeat passed, then two. “Fine,” he said again.
“Tonight?”
A huff of humorless laughter parted his lips. “Sure,” he said drily. “Tonight.”
“I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes.”
“This is ridiculous. After everything we’ve had together, you want to try to force it all into a one-night stand? You really think that’s going to do anything but make it worse?”
“It can’t get worse,” she said. “Not for me.”
His anger broke for a moment then. His features softened into regret. His shoulders lost their rigid tension. “I’m sorry, Eve. I didn’t have a choice.”
