Page 49 of Forget

‘Fine.’ She took a small step back, instantly missing the warmth of him pressing against her. ‘I believe you promised me a dance?’

‘I did.’ He took one of her hands in his and placed his other in the small of her back, an innocuous gesture that never failed to make her feel special. His palm burned through the satin, branding her.

When Brock touched her like this, in a non-sexual way, she dared to dream.

What would it be like to have him in her life for more than two weeks?

What would he say if he knew she trusted him as she trusted no one else in her life?

What would he do if she told him the truth, that she might have come a long way from that insecure girl who’d clung to him one fateful night after revealing too much of herself, but their connection now was so much stronger and she wanted more?

She might have dwelled on their unexpected connection on grad night for years afterwards, but what they had now blew that out of the stratosphere.

Phenomenal sex, mutual admiration, teasing banter, and laughs: a lot of relationships started with less.

As if sensing her wandering thoughts, he eased back a fraction and glanced down at her. Their gazes locked and she wished he could read half of what she was feeling.

Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but when he pulled her close and gently guided her head to rest on his chest, she knew that she couldn’t walk away without telling him how she felt.

If she didn’t come clean about her developing feelings for this quiet, stoic, sexy man, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

When Sasha had died she’d been devastated, plagued by a host of ‘what-ifs’. What if she’d confided in her big sis about her innermost fears? What if she’d told her how she resentedher perfectness and how it made her feel secondbest? What if she’d told Sasha she loved her even while being eaten away by jealousy?

She’d hated those ‘what-ifs’ because they echoed through her head on replay all through the funeral, the memorial service, and every day for years, when her parents had done their utmost to make her feel as if she could never fill her big sister’s shoes.

No way in hell she’d make the same mistake with Brock.

She’d tell him how she was feeling and if he chose to walk away, so be it.

His heart thudded beneath her ear and as they swayed in time to the music she willed herself not to cry. This felt too good, too right, too much. Being in his arms made her feel cherished and she liked it too much to be good for her.

The song ended all too quickly and he drew back, placed a finger under her chin, and tipped her head up. ‘I want to get out of here so badly.’

‘We have to stay for main course but we’ll skip dessert,’ she said, wanting to leave too but knowing the news would filter back to his father that they’d left early and he’d be disappointed.

‘Deal.’ His gaze roved her face, as if searching for clues to her sudden quietness.

‘You should talk to Pat. He knows your dad quite well.’

Shadows clouded his eyes and a tiny vein pulsed at his temple. Yeah, Brock definitely had daddy issues. She knew the feeling.

‘Let’s get back to the table. The faster we eat, the faster we get out of here.’ Sounding gruff, he cleared his throat, but when they reached the table, she saw him cast a speculative glance Pat’s way.

Pat appeared overjoyed to have Brock back and topped up his wine glass, even though Brock hadn’t touched it yet.

‘Jayda is a delight,’ Pat said, raising his glass in Brock’s direction. ‘You’re a lucky man.’

‘I am.’ Brock picked up his glass and clinked Pat’s while shooting her a small grin she had no hope of interpreting. ‘Very lucky indeed.’

‘And about to get luckier,’ she murmured, resting her hand on his thigh and inching her fingers upwards.

He flexed his muscle and slid forward a little, meaning her hand ended up inches away from his sizeable inches. His eyebrow arched in provocation, daring her to touch him, but her teasing only made her squirm with need so she gave him a quick squeeze and removed her hand.

Pat, oblivious to the sexual tension arcing between them, beamed. ‘How’s George? Is his hip healing?’

‘He’s doing well, off to rehab next week,’ Brock said, with the slightest inflection in his voice. Only Jayda would’ve noticed because she heard the same tightness every time he’d mentioned his dad to her before. ‘He wishes he could’ve been here tonight.’

Pat nodded. ‘Your dad’s a good guy, most of the time.’ He swirled his wine and took a sip, his ruddy expression indicating he’d had more than enough. ‘I’ve known him for a long time. Used to be a bit of a prick, especially to your mum, but I guess you already know that?’

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