Page 68 of King of Deception

“No, but here’s where you’re wrong,” he held up two fingers in a circle. “I’m not blaming you for any of this. Not for my lies. Not for wanting to never see me again. I get it.” He stopped, drawing a deep breath. “Lying was never a habit of mine, Ella. But I couldn’t bear the thought of losing your respect for me.”

I wanted to tell him that it was too late, but that, too, would have been a lie. Somehow, I still held him in a place higher than I’d wanted to admit. Instead, all my efforts went toward not crying in front of him.

Looking down for a minute, he gave me the chance to silently exhale, watching him seem so lost. But then he looked up again, and I had to hold my head up high.

“I’ll do anything—anything—to start this over the right way,” he said.

As I helplessly shook my head, I moved my hands aimlessly about, thinking of an answer to the question he never truly asked.

“At the risk of getting shot down… would you let me take you on a first date again?”

And there it was.

Did I have it in me to give him a second chance? I’d made that mistake before with Jude, and look where it got me. The warning signs flashed in red before my eyes. Everything I didn’t want fused with the man I wanted so badly. If only I could pretend not to know.

“You really hurt me, you know,” I confessed.

“I know, and I’m ashamed,” he admitted.

“I respect that.” I shrugged with one shoulder, taking a step closer.

“Shame?” He gave me a sad smile.

“Your ability to admit it.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a maybe.” I paused. “Am I pushing it with the man that half the women in New York would kill to have?”

“He’ll allow it.” His smile changed.

“You look a lot like your dad.”

“I know.”

“He seemed to age well.”

“Why are you changing the subject?”

“Because this is hard for me, Abel.” I sighed. “I was already trying not to let my history with Jude dictate how I acted around you… how I trusted you.”

“And then I went and made it worse,” he inched closer, but I didn’t withdraw.

“But then if I don’t forgive… am I really—

“What?” he whispered.

“Don’t do that,” I begged.

“Do what?” he smiled, touching my cheek with two fingers. “I missed you.”

“That,” I repeated. “Where you do what you do to me, and I can’t think straight.”

His eyes gazed tenderly into mine. “Can you blame a man for trying?”

My heart was already pounding its way out of my chest, and I didn’t know how much resistance I would have left if I stayed another second.

I wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

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