Page 69 of Love In Translation

They stayed like that—her curled up against his chest, encased within his strength and solidity, his cheek resting on her hair—for ages. But then she felt him stir, and his hand moved to her breast and his thumb drifted over her nipple.

He’d taken forever to love her, to explore every inch of her, toworshipher. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss infused with intensity. When he brought her—hours, years later—to a soul-shattering climax, she understood, in a primal way, the phrase “to make love.”

She fell asleep, wrapped in his arms, a contented smile on her face. Because there was no way a man could spend so much concentrated time loving her,reveringher, without feelingsomethingmore.

She didn’t care how much more; she’d take it. She’d take anything he could give her.

But when she woke up this morning, he was gone, and he stayed that way.

Fletcher rubbed the back of his neck and Rheo knew he was looking for an excuse to leave the kitchen. He’d been unapproachable all night, so much so that even Gail—Queen of Small Talk—gave up on him.

And how weird was it that he’d met her parents? It was usually such a big step in a relationship. Theoretically, he and her parents had lots in common—traveling, van life,her—but him ignoring her put their backs up. As a result, everyone’s interactions were stiff and awkward.

What the hell was going on with him?

“I’ve decided I’m going to talk to Paddy,” she told him, pulling two glasses and a bottle of bourbon from the cupboard. She poured a shot into each glass and handed one to Fletch.

C’mon, Fletch, give mesomething.A hint of a smile, the tiniest amount of encouragement.

But his expression didn’t change.

“Good idea,” he replied.

Really? That was it?“I like Seb,” she told him. “He’s quiet but witty. What’s the beef between him and Carrie?”

“It’s their business,” Fletch laconically replied, leaning his shoulder into the fridge. Rheo wanted to hit him. But she also wanted to reach into his rib cage, grab his heart, and shake it around, while demanding the return of the funny and warm man she’d shared this house with. This cool, calm, confident stranger was irritating.

“I’m going to my room,” Fletch said, looking grim.

Hisroom.

He straightened, and Rheo grabbed his hand. He tried to tug his hand from her grip, but she held on.

“No, we’re going to talk,” she told him.

He shrugged. “So talk.” He glanced at his watch. “But can you make it quick? I have some emails I need to send tonight.”

Swear to God, she was going to stab him with a fork. “You’re being an asshole, Wright,” she snapped. “You’ve been avoiding me, and we either slug it out here, running the risk of being interrupted, or we take this into the garden.”

Fletch looked at her with cool green eyes. “What’s there to say?”

Rheo met the challenge in his eyes with a lifted chin. “Here or outside?”

Fletch sighed, and gestured to the kitchen door. Rheo followed him to the now finished gazebo, under which she’d placed a pretty wooden bench. She’d planted clematis in each of the four pots, and in a few summers, the creeper would provide a lovely shaded canopy under which Paddy could sit. But tonight, beyond the wooden beams, icy stars lay on a black velvet sky.

It was a lovely night, one made for romance and hot kisses, for naked bodies and desperate mouths. But since Fletch seemed desperate to avoid talking, all she’d get, if she was lucky, was stilted conversation.

“I’m not going to ask you what I’ve done wrong, because this is all you,” Rheo told him, sitting on the bench and placing her leg over her knee. “Youleft for Portland. I thought everything was fine, and you didn’t contact me once.Youcame back from Portland, made love to me, cuddled me, made love to me again, and acted like it was your last night on earth. Then you sneaked out of the room when I was asleep.Youreturned as late as you possibly could today to avoid me. Do you want to tell me why?”

She noticed his hesitation and watched as he tried to formulate a lie she’d believe. “Don’t make this situation worse by trying to bullshit me, Wright,” she snapped.

He leaned against a wooden pillar, and this time the structure didn’t budge. “It was time to put some distance between us,” he admitted.

“And you thought ignoring me was a good way to do that?”

“I had things to do in Portland and didn’t think I needed to check in with you, to tell you where I was and what I was doing.”

Rheo stared at him, not knowing how to respond. He was, after all, speaking the truth. They’d never discussed any sort of commitment.

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