Page 9 of Inevitably Yours

But this, this was impossible. John was well aware of the affection he had for her, and hers for him, and he was choosing to let it go—to throw it away and pretend it was never even there.

For whatever reason, and she had a pretty good idea what it was, John was making a conscience choice. As much as it hurt her to her core, she had to respect that. That didn’t mean she didn’t deserve answers, or at the very least, John didn't deserve the closure of admitting it and moving on.

However, she was going to enjoy the illusion for as long as she could without having to call her behavior creepy. She breathed his scent in deeply one last time before she let go. It was time. Gus had clung to him like a baby koala climbing a tree all the way from the table to the car.

Reluctantly, she let go so he could close the door. The center console kept her hands, and any other wayward parts, to herself on the drive home. But when John came around to open her door, as he always did, she reached for him with more desperation than a drowning man grasps for a rope. Oh God, pathetic much, Gus?

Less than half of a football field was all she had—the distance from the car to her entry-way where John would make his polite excuses and bail.

Fifty yards was all she had to relish the heat of his bicep through the thin cotton barrier.

Now forty yards left to appreciate the security of his quiet strength and reassuring touch.

Thirty yards to enjoy the slight rasp of his work-roughened hand absently stroking one of her forearms as it wrapped around his arm and clung on for dear life.

Twenty…memorizing the close-up of his once clean-shaven face, that was now the host of the salt and pepper beard he was growing.

Just ten more before John’s scent of spice, Scotch, and coffee was no longer invading her. It was a smell she had become addicted to. Funny, the coffee scent John held was the only time since becoming pregnant she could stand the smell. Erika swore when she was pregnant with Willow, she would brew pot after pot, only to bury her nose in it before tossing it out. Gus found that hard to believe, but each woman’s experience was unique. Duh.

Zero. They had reached the metaphorical end zone of the entry-way to Gus’ house. With a great deal of effort, and resignation, Gus released her grip on John’s arm. She had expected a physical reaction, but none like what she experienced.

Gut-churning, nauseating, headache-inducing, room-spinning dread slammed into her as if her soul knew what her mind had yet to accept—this was it, the ending of something that was never given the chance to even begin. The pain she was feeling was almost physical. She winced at what she decided was her soul making an effort to rip itself free from her body and heart before it would become a husk of what it once was. With all the sick feelings assaulting her, there was some anger, too. Anger that he had never given them a chance. Intense anger directed at that stubborn butt, lily livered…stupid head…who she loved silly. So, who’s the real stupid-head in all this?

Turning to John, she did the polite thing first; a Thorne never skipped social niceties. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, I appreciate your time and thoughtfulness. It is truly a night I won’t soon forget. It may not have been as magical for you, but it was that and more for me.” When she caught a flash of what she could only identify as anger zip across John’s face, Gus turned and placed her purse on the table. She started removing her slingbacks when she over-tipped and had to catch herself on the wall. Of course, Gentleman John was there to catch her before she fell.

She would miss his cat-like reflexes and protective nature. It was that nature that saved Skynyrd before he could limp off into the woods bloodied and injured. Sadly, Gus wasn’t feeling very appreciative of John right now. Maybe because he would do the same for anyone, not just her, and that realization not only hurt, it made her question her own feelings. Could she have fallen for John because of misreading his actions? Did he really not feel anything more for her than anyone else?

“I’m fine, I don’t need your help.” John dropped his hands and stiffened at her back so fast, she had to wonder if he had super powers. She was snippy, but she wasn’t going to feel bad about it. Well, she wasn’t until she heard the pain in his pleading voice.

“Augusta…”

“I’m sorry John, I’m just a little tired and hormonal. I didn’t mean to be a witch. You were just trying to help, and I thank you.” She couldn’t bring herself to turn and look at him. Her heart would shatter if she did; she was sure of it.

For some reason, her apology didn’t help, it only seemed to hurt him more. She could practically feel it in the air, his pain. And because it was John, she seemed to be out of her depth. Gus cursed herself, how is it I can help my friends but not the man I…

Unable to finish the thought, and at a loss as to what to do, she decided to just end it for now. They could work it out tomorrow, get the closure they both needed on a new day. This one was already headed to Hades and nothing seemed to be coming from it that was productive. What the heck is the point of pain if it doesn’t produce squat?

“Look,” Gus started to turn, but John reached up and halted her rotation.

“Please, just stay like you are and continue.” John’s emotion-roughened voice pleaded, as hands lingered on her biceps, and she felt his body move into her personal space.

“Okay, look. I understand there is something we need to discuss.” Gus’ speech faltered as his chest encountered her back. His touch, his body heat scorched her very bones. When John’s inhale whispered along the nape of her neck and his shuddering exhale kissed the pebbling skin there, she experienced a glimpse of her own personal Heaven.

Trying to focus on her thoughts was about as effective as carrying sand in a sifter, as Francis would say. That peek into bliss cemented her need to postpone this conversation until later. A centering breath or two and she was ready to speak.

“Like I was saying, I know there is a discussion that needs to happen, but if you would indulge me this one last time…” Work-roughened hands skimmed down her arms to rest on her hips and robbed her voice once again. John’s exploration didn’t stop there, it continued as his hands made their way to the front of her hips.

The next kiss she experienced wasn’t an exhale, but the barely there grazing of lips softer than she expected, but exactly as she’d dreamed. It was so gentle and fleeting, she had to convince herself it actually happened. Before she knew it, the kiss-not-kiss was in the past, and John had laid his cheek against the crown of her head, while his hand slowly came around her belly and back to her hips, repeatedly. Gus focused her senses on another feeling, one of his growing erection against her back. His rather large…holy mother of God. She needed to not be focused on that. If she couldn’t drag her brain out of his pants, she might never speak again. Wouldn’t that be fabulous, rendered mute by a man’s cock.

“But I—”

John interrupted her. But this time, the emotions she heard were laced with arousal and tempered with defeat. “This sounds like a goodbye, Augusta. And if it is, at least let me touch you once. Allow me to bring you pleasure instead of pain.”

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