Page 31 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
I erupt in full-on ugly sobs, my face against his shirt, my fingers gripping the fabric. He doesn’t say anything at first, just tightens his hold slightly, his large hand splayed between my shoulder blades.
He has no way of knowing it, but it’s exactly what I need. To be held, to be comforted without judgment, without giving me advice or telling me all the ways I shouldn’t be as upset as I am now.
For a long time, I sob, snot and all, my face in Gerralt’s shirt almost swallowed by his arms.
I have no idea how long I cry, but Gerralt doesn’t budge. He just cradles me against him and pets my spine up and down in a soothing, slow cadence. Finally, I have no more tears to cry and my sobs subside to the dry cackle of a crow.
“I can’t fail.” I whisper to his chest. “If I fail here, it’ll mean Jason was right. It’ll mean my mother was right. I’m incapable of taking care of myself, of standing on my own two feet.”
His hand stops moving along my back. After a long silence, he murmurs, “You’re not a failure. You never were. It’s their own fault if they can’t see this.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, the tension in my chest unraveling bit by bit, breath by breath.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but eventually, I pull back just enough to look up at him.
“All I see when I look at you is a woman capable of grabbing life with both hands to reach up for her dreams.”
There’s a dizzying moment where Gerralt’s gaze darkens and his eyes drift down to my lips and I think he’s going to kiss me.
Then he opens his arms to release me and I pull away. All I want is to press my lips to his and kiss him into oblivion, but I’ve already done that once.
I won’t do it again. If Gerralt Banesman wants to kiss me a second time, he’s going to have to make the first move.
Or more like the second move.
Since it doesn’t look like it’ll happen anytime today, I reluctantly stand up and take a step back. Gerralt gets to his feet as well and I pretend I don’t notice the massive hard-on that stretches the front of his pants.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night with the wood for the mantelpiece.”
Then he’s gone. And the lump in my throat is back.
Chapter Thirteen
Gerralt
Theskyisjuststarting to lighten when I throw my bag into the truck and climb behind the wheel. There’s a cool bite to the air, the scent of pine needles and damp earth washing over me as I grip the steering wheel. The Saltwater Lodge is hidden from my view by the dense cover of the forest, curled up safely on the shoreline, but its presence is like a hook in my gut, pulling me to it. To her.
Last night, I almost crossed a line I can’t uncross.
The feeling of Cassidy’s lips is still burned into my memory. The way she kissed me first, tentative and soft. The way Isnapped like a goddamn branch in a winter storm and kissed her back, all teeth and possessiveness. She didn’t pull away like she should have. No, instead she leaned in. Melted into me.
And for a moment, I let myself forget everything else. I almost claimed her, mated her right there on the spot.
I can’t let that happen again.
So I do what I do best. I get to work.
The engine roars to life, vibrating through my fingers as I grip the steering wheel. I steer out onto the road, heading for Weyland’s Lumber. It’s a two-hour drive if I take it slow, but with each mile marker that ticks by, my foot presses harder on the gas, eager to outrun the memories that are creeping up behind me like shadows in the rearview mirror.
I tell myself I’m only making this trip for work. The lodge foyer needs a new mantelpiece, something solid and timeless. Weyland’s Lumber is the only place that carries the kind of high-quality lumber I need.
That’s the reason. The only reason.
I shake my head, as if it could physically dispel the doubts swirling in my mind.
Just a business trip, nothing more.
It’s got nothing to do with the fact that I haven’t set foot in the small town of Silverbrook in almost twenty years. The thought grips my heart, a vise tightening as my breath quickens. I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat won't dissolve.
