Page 64 of His Perfect Bride
She made a trail from his bicep down his forearm to his fingers.
With each inch she moved, his muscles coiled tighter.
As her fingers grasped his and then began to intertwine, he was wound up enough that he felt as though all it would take was one more tiny touch from her and he would snap.
Swallowing hard, he tried to make his arm loosen and relax.
“Jackson?” His name from her lips was like a caress.
He managed a responding sound.
“I want you to know”—she hesitated—“that I care about you.”
Her whisper was tender, but at the same time was like a seismic wave rolling into him and undoing all the control he’d willed himself to have.
A groan pushed for release. This was torture. For an eternal second, he closed his eyes and battled against the pressure crushing him so that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. All he knew was that he wanted her—and not just physically. He wanted all of her—body, soul, and spirit. And he wasn’t sure how he could possibly go on another second without her.
A war—one he was afraid he’d lose—raged in every corner of his mind. He needed to crawl immediately out of the tent and stay away from her, even if that meant confessing to Pastor Abe that he wasn’t really married to Sage.
“I think,” she continued, “that…I’m falling in love with you.”
Falling in love?
He stiffened. Even though he’d already admitted to himself that his feelings for this woman defied all reasoning and that he was in love with her, her confession sent a burst of panic through him.
Hadn’t he just told himself he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship? That he’d only end up making a mess and hurting her?
She brushed her thumb over his, bringing all his attention to that spot, to the delicate touch, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her body, the beauty of every inch of her. For a second, he was lost in the sensations, and all he wanted was to lie beside her like this and feel her caress forever.
She shifted slightly.
She’d just told him that she loved him and was waiting for him to respond. But what could he say? He couldn’t reiterate it, couldn’t encourage her love, not when he was an utter mess of a man.
He sat up and tugged his hand from hers.
She grew motionless, didn’t even seem to be breathing.
He had to say something, needed to explain why he was no good for her, but the words were trapped inside.
The air in the tent was suddenly stifling. His heart was pounding too hard, making his head throb. He had to go outside, get away from her, and try to make sense of everything. He swiped up his bedroll and the blankets and began to crawl toward the tent entrance. As he reached the flap, he paused.
In the darkness he could make out her stiff outline.
“I regret…” He wanted to assure her that she wasn’t at fault, that the problems were all his. “I cannot—sleep in here—with you. It’s a mistake…”
He blew out an exasperated breath then scrambled out of the tent, dragging his bedroll with him.
Across the low dancing flames, Pastor Abe pushed up to his elbows, as though he was ready to spring up and come to Jackson’s aid. The other two fellows sipping whiskey paused to stare at him too. He supposed he looked like he was escaping from a burning building.
He stood to his feet and jabbed his fingers into his hair. The truth was, he was running away from fire before he played around with it and burned Sage and himself. He was doing what was best for them both. Wasn’t he?
Why, then, did he feel as though he’d pushed her away and left her to suffer all on her own?
Despondency fell over him, and his shoulders drooped under the weight. He’d only wanted to keep from causing her pain, but what if in the process he’d hurt her even more?
He railed a silent curse at himself before lowering himself to the blankets and bedroll that sat in a heap outside the tent door. Yes, he’d done what he’d predicted. He’d made a greater mess of the matter.
That’s what he was good at—messes and mistakes and never living up to expectations, especially his father’s. Even though he knew he had to stop letting his father’s voice define him, he couldn’t seem to shake the echoes.
