Page 84 of The Man I Love

In her heart, she knew everything happened for a reason. If she hadn’t left, she wouldn’t have had the success with her art. Even the incident with his father had helped spread her name. It was her photo in the tabloids titledBarefoot in New York, which made everyone aware of her existence. That tabloid, which made people keep coming in well after the grand opening.

The music pounded now, becoming more rhythmic, and for the first time she realized there really wasn’t anyone to blame for what happened. Like her mother said, there were always two sides to every story, and for the first time since he left her in New York, she wondered if she should give them a second chance.

The realization made her exhale like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders—as though the repressed thought hadfreed her soul. Her entire weight sunk into him, and he took it effortlessly. Supporting her as though it was the only job he’d ever wanted.

The instructor moved on to breathing exercises and counter-pressure techniques—and as with anything physical, Tristan caught on like it was second nature for him. His touch was deliberate, exploring the soft curve of her back before pressing gently into the tense muscles at the base of her spine. In the dark, everyone in the room became quiet. Especially Samantha, whose body responded to him like she was a sixteen-year-old girl, and he was kissing her again for the first time.

She'd heard about women experiencing increased libido during pregnancy, but she wasn’t prepared for the way his touch awakened every nerve ending in her body. She sighed deeply, feeling the initial tension melt away. Then his fingers moved outward, toward her sides, finding the knots and working at them with rhythmic pressure that was both soothing and provocative. His fingers found the edge of her shirt, and his hands moved upward, until they finally brushed the sensitive skin at her rib cage. She knew he’d gone off course andthat he was no longer following the birth instructor’s instructions, but she didn’t care and held completely still regardless. The sensation was intense, and her body clenched with a mixture of resistance and arousal that made her tighten all over. She was scared yet aroused at the same time. Scared to let this happen––yet even more afraid that if she moved away this fragile thing between them would break.

His face came to rest by her cheek, and she exhaled. “How does that feel?” he asked.

She leaned against him. “Good,” she said, swallowing hard against the desires that made her head feel foggy. On instinct she pushed her backside against his groin, and his pent-up groan made her eyes fly open.Oh no!

The birthing instructor’s voice cut through the air, pulling Samantha back to reality and making her acutely aware that they were still in a room full of people.

“Now take a deep breath,” the instructor said calmly. “Deep in, then exhale out slowly. We will pick up where we left off again next week.”

Samantha cleared her throat, adjusted her shirt downward, then scooted away from Tristan’s spread thighs.Holy fuck, what was she thinking?

By the time the lights were bright overhead, Tristan was standing and offering his hand to help her stand. They’d gotten carried away, and she could barely bring herself to look at him when he pulled her up.

The entire class began to put away their mats, but Samantha excused herself to use the restroom, where she splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to calm herself down.

By the time she returned to the class five minutes later, he was waiting for her at the door. He proceeded to walk with her to her car, where the energy between them zinged with something she didn’t even have the words for. A mixture of desire, tension, and angst.

His fingers brushed her hand when they got to the lot, and she folded her arms at her chest and kept walking, knowing that if she held his hand now, she would lose her ever-loving mind, just like she had in that class.

They needed to slow down, build back trust,notlet the passion that came so easily make things blurry. “Thank you for coming,” she said when they finally stopped at her car.

He opened her driver's side door, and his eyebrows arched like he didn’t quite understand what was happening. “Of course,” he said, but he didn’t move away—he stayed there beside her, his hip resting against the frame as he examined her face. “What’s the matter, Samantha?”

She swallowed hard and looked him in the eye. “What do you mean?”

He frowned and moved a little closer. “Why are you fighting this? Why do you let me hold you one minute, then push me away the next?”

Her eyes dropped to the ground. “I don’t know.”

He lifted her chin, and his body moved forward, caging her in between her seat, his body, and the car door. “You want this. I can feel it.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Why?”

For the first time she thought about it. Really and truly thought about it. “Because I’m scared.”

He paused, as though those words were the last ones he expected to hear. “Of me?” he asked.

Even though it took everything within her to admit it, she answered. “Yes.”

He let out on an audible breath and stepped backward. His hands found his hair, and he turned away. Tension overtook his shoulders, and there was so much anguish in his stance that she couldn’t take it.

“Tris”— she needed to explain, to help him understand?—

“Don’t.” He held up a hand stopping her, his tone practically pleading.

She bit her lip and touched his shoulder, causing his hands to fall to his sides as he turned to face her again.

“I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.” His voice was low and raw. “But I understand.”

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