Page 130 of Holding On To Good

But he was only human and having her here, looking like that, it messed with his head. Weakened his resolve until he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk away from what could be between them.

Wasn’t sure he’d be able to let her go without a fight.

“You have something to tell me?” he asked, braced for whatever shitty news she’d come over to impart. That their friendship was over. That she wanted to dissolve their partnership.

That she and Calhoun were getting married and going to have six redheaded kids they were going to saddle with the Irishiest of Irish names.

She took half a step back, more of a rocking motion, really, like a dance move, then surged forward as if someone or something—her stubborn streak more than likely—had pushed her. Bella trotted in after her then crossed to Urban’s side and pressed against his leg.

Willow shut the door behind her then crossed her arms. “This is all your fault,” she muttered.

He didn’t pretend not to understand. “You kissed me first.”

“I… was… drunk. But you… you kissed me when you were stone-cold sober and now I can’t even enjoy a night out with another man.”

For the first time that night, for the first time since she’d told him she was having a drink with Finn Calhoun, Urban felt like grinning.

“Bad date?” he asked, mild as the lake on a perfect summer day.

“No,” she snapped. “It was a very nice date with a very nice man. A very nice, interesting, attractive man who, I believe, finds me interesting and attractive as well.”

“He does.”

She frowned. Dropped her arms. “What?”

“Calhoun. He’s attracted to you.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I saw how he looked at you at the ball field. But even if I hadn’t, I know he finds you interesting and attractive. He’d have to be an idiot not to.”

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What is?”

“You saying things like that. You never used to.”

He wanted to step toward her, to get just a little closer, but he had the feeling if he moved even an inch, she’d bolt. “Just because I didn’t say it before,” Urban said, quietly, honestly, “doesn’t mean it’s not true.” He paused, held her gaze. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.”

Shaking her head slowly, she held out a hand as if that alone had the power to stop his words. “No.”

“I’ve always known you were smart and creative and funny. I’ve always thought you were beautiful. Have always, always found you interesting and attractive but right now…”

She watched him wide-eyed, a flush staining her cheeks, suffusing her throat with color. “Right now…?”

She wanted him to open a vein, give her everything that was inside of him—his thoughts and feelings and truth.

All without her doing the same. She wanted to stay hidden—like she had earlier behind her sunglasses. Like she had out on the patio, staying in the shadows. She wanted to stand there, the lamplight casting a golden glow on her face, and hide behind their past. Their friendship. Their business.

That goddamn promise he’d made her when they’d been kids.

“Right now,” he repeated, “in those jeans and that shirt with your hair like that, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“I’m not.” He took a step toward her, only slightly gratified, only partially appeased when she didn’t back up. “Right now, I want to rip Calhoun’s eyes out because he got to see you like this.” Another step, his voice getting lower but somehow more vehement. “Right now, I fucking hate that you look that way for him. That you came here when you’re still too afraid to admit what you really want.”

Her face was white, her voice reedy. “Urban, I—”

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