Page 59 of The Art of You

“Right.” The whisper floated between us like a secret. “He knows.”That I was in here, I finished my words in my head.

“He does.” The firm grit of his tone signaled he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Same.I wanted to believe Constantine would stop acting like my dad and let me date who I wanted, but I also believed in Santa until I was in the sixth grade, so I didn’t quite trust my judgment when it came to men. “So, um, we’re going out there now?”

He was still holding me captive. Blocking my path with his muscular frame. Cupping my chin with his big hand. Blue eyes laying siege to my heart. I was met with a nod and a terse look, but he didn’t budge.

We remained quietly staring at each other for a little longer before I stated what I hoped he already knew, “I’m here for you. Always.”

He released my chin, dragging his knuckles along my jawline and up the side of my face, simply staring at me as he dropped a husky “Ditto” on me.

That word sent me back to the theater room, to cuddling with him as we watchedGhost. Ditto . . . if you know, you know.

His hand blazed a new trail, his eyes following the path down the column of my throat before sweeping to my shoulder. His touch became gentler when moving to the purple welt the seat belt had left there.

He frowned as he shifted the sleeve farther down my arm, then bent forward, kissing the bruise. His lips pressed gently against the tender spot, keeping hold of my hip with the other hand.

He slowly lifted his head, adjusted my sleeve back in place, and found my eyes. “Better?”

“Mmmhmm,” was the best I could manage. I wasn’t sure how I’d gone from crying to turned on so fast. I searched forthat wicked emotion known as guilt, recognizing I shouldn’t be feeling like this now of all times, but that contrition escaped me.

He guided me around so my back pressed against the doorframe, and he set his hand over my head. There was something so masculine and sexy about a man standing in such a dominant position. He was leaning so close our noses nearly touched. Close enough our breaths tangled as one.

“I don’t think I want to face reality yet.” The gruff underlying quality of his tone had my nipples hardening. Thankfully, my dark shirt probably concealed the desire I had no business having.

He’d told me he couldn’t be with me before Constantine interrupted us. And now I better understood those demons he’d been fighting for so long. He’d been to hell and back, and he’d chosen to take that walk alone instead of letting any of us support him.

Then his past came hurtling back in the form of ugly words on the internet. A ruthless attempt to try and knock him down again.

Yet, there I was, the mental chaos of his confession still swirling like the debris from a building implosion, wondering if this man might say,Fuck it, and kiss me.

“Airport rules.”

Those two words from him blocked the train wreck happening in my head and pried my lips open. “A distraction you need before we go out there? Or is this something more?”

He closed his eyes.

Thinking

Considering.

Shredding my sanity with the longest pause of my life.

Blues back on me, his voice hoarse, he finally shared, “It’ll always be something more with you.”

The “flutters,” as my sister used to call them, erupted in my stomach, and I silently thanked the doorframe for continuing to do its job of keeping me upright.

“What’s changed?” A better question:What’s wrong with me?The answer:I’m unable to shut up and take what I asked for.

He glanced at the closed bedroom door before returning those bold blues to my face. “I don’t know if it has changed. I truly don’t know yet.”

Too soon. Too fast. I got that. He’d only just shared the truths he’d kept bottled up for fifteen years. He’d been tethered to one way of thinking for so long, change would take time. I supposed I could relate.

“I probably have decades of bad habits I have to see if I can undo first.” That was one of the most honest things I’d ever heard a man say to me. “But I don’t know if I’ll survive leaving this room if I don’t feel your lips on mine.”

He nailed me to the floor with those words. With those hooded eyes. That clenched jaw of what was left of his restraint.

“There are much worse things I can think of to be haunted by,” I admitted, remembering what he’d said. “If this is the last time, or merely one of many, I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

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