Page 54 of Takes Two to Tango

"Emerson wasn't fanciful. Far from it." Brent moved to the rail. "And I know you were a girl. But you weren't like the other girls. It was a soul thing with us. I didn’t want to mess that up. I didn’t want to share that. I guess now it seems-”

“Selfish. Obtuse. Deal is, I’m not a symbol. I'm a person. I had flesh that needed something more than …an ode written to it. Who wants to be an image to be only contemplated?”

"Rayne-"

“No. I’m not a paragon on a pedestal. Or a rose too perfect to clip. I'm tired of being this... this ideal flower for you. I can see it now. The way you saw me. I was your counterpart, too pleasing as the yin to your yang to be anything other than your testing ground for ideas, for dissertations on self-reliance and beauty and love.

You made me something you couldn't have. Some kind of-"

"No, that's not what I meant." He ran a hand through his hair, but it didn't go far. The paint had started drying, makinghis hair clump together. He sighed and pulled away from the mess. "I saw you differently than other girls. That's true. And, yes, you were a bit of an ideal. But I never wanted to hurt you."

She lifted a shoulder. ''I don't think you did. But intention is one thing. Reality another."

For a moment all was quiet on the porch.

''Now I can see why you were only content to kiss me. You always backed away. Still do. Just like in the kitchen last week."

''The only reason I stopped is because I respect your wishes. You know I want more than kissing, but I value you more than a cheap lay. You mean too much," he said.

Damn if he didn't look as appealing as he ever had, bare-chested, streaked with paint and disillusioned. Rayne longed to slide her hand across his chest, feel the springy hairs as she felt his heart beat beneath her hand.

But she didn't go to him. Instead she walked to the door and slid her feet into the flip-flops she habitually left outside.

"What are you doing?" he said, straightening."We're not through talking."

She trotted down the steps. "I'm tired of talking. About the past. About the future. Instead, I'm doing what you said I should do. I'm following my gut instinct."

He watched her as she followed the path that led to his parents' backyard. "And that's taking you where?"

''Through the French doors of your house," she said. A strong impulse had knocked over the rationales she'd used to protect herself. Not to mention longing, desire, passion, and need-all balled up in to one had finished the job. If she and Brent were going to move in a direction, there was one path she wanted to walk down. And that path meant stepping through those doors literally and figuratively.

"Rayne," he called.

She turned around, flipped her braid over one shoulder, and unwrapped the elastic band that held it. She ran her fingers through the strands, releasing them so that they tumbled over her shoulders and back. "Quite honestly, Brent, if I’m your rose, I think it's time you plucked me."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

BRENT’S GAZE FOLLOWED RAYNE ROSE as she sashayed toward his house. At least he thought it was a sashay. Looked sassy and determined to him.

He paused for a moment. But only a moment.

He'd been honest with his words. Rayne was different from the other women he’d dated. They had a history that meant the physical side of their relationship wasn’t to be rushed. They weren’t about sex, comfort, or ease. But he also wasn’t dog-ass stupid. He'd craved the sweetness of Rayne ever since he'd sprouted hair in unmentionable places on his body. So was he going to leave her hanging?

Hell to theno, no, no.

He rounded the rail of the porch, stopping only to grab the bottle of olive oil that Frances handed him silently as he passed the front door.

"Keep an eye on Henry when he gets home?” he asked as he trotted down the front steps.

"No problem," Frances said before closing the front door.

He was certain he'd seen a smile on her lips.

Glancing down at the bottle, he stutter-stepped. Oil seemed a bit kinky, but they were covered in paint. More of a necessity really.

When he reached his place, the French door stood ajar, an invitation to the mystery of a very complicated woman. He stepped inside. No lights, but the afternoon sunlight streaming through the sheers showed him exactly what he wanted to see.

A very naked Rayne.

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