Page 6 of Promise of a New Beginning
When they finally drew apart, reality came rushing at him like a barrage of fractured thoughts. Savannah didn’t need a broken man like him, and he sure as heck didn’t need to try to fill the hole in his heart the size of Mount Everest—a hole he’d just gotten used to ignoring.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” He hated how cold he sounded, but he knew it was for the best. Jack took a step backward, trying to rationalize the ache in his gut to doing the right thing—even if it felt so wrong that he wanted to punch a tree.
Savannah stepped backward, shaking her head. “Why?”
“This isn’t what you’re here for, and it’s sure as heck not what I’m here for,” he snapped.
“But maybe it’s what we both needed,” she said.
How many times had Linda said something similar to him?Stop working and come to bed. You need me tonight.Jack clenched his jaw against the anger that mounted within him. He’d messed up, and the hope in Savannah’s eyes nearly sent his lips right back to hers. He had to shut her down or he’d never forgive himself.
“Savannah, stop,” he said. “It was a kiss. You were scared, and I got carried away. Chalk it up to the heat of the moment. Aftershock.” He reached for her arm in spite of himself and she pulled away.
“Aftershock?” she spat. “I saw the way you looked at me down by the water and again right before you kissed me, and what I saw wasn’t a man who was carried away.”
Damn. What the heck did she want from him? He wasn’t a fling kind of guy, and a woman like Savannah probably had men lined up around the corner. He wasn’t ready to deal with the surge of emotion that scared the tar out of him when they’d kissed, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready again.
“I’m sorry,” was all he could muster.
Savannah narrowed her eyes like the angry bobcat that had just run off. “What were you doing out here anyway?” she asked. “Spying on me?” She cocked her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
Jack wasn’t about to tell her that he spent most nights lying awake, too anxious to sleep, swimming in and out of fitful sleep, or that he often spent several hours sitting beneath the stars, replaying that fateful night of the accident in his mind like a bad rerun.
He dropped his eyes, thinking about how tonight he’d been on the verge of tears out of sheer frustration when he’d spotted Savannah walking into the woods, her eyes wide, her slim fingers trailing from tree to tree, and how seeing her had quelled his tears. Just as meeting her had given life to stirrings he hadn’t felt in years. He’d almost been glad to spot the bobcat because it gave him a reason to be closer to her.
“Jack?” she said just above a whisper. “Is this about your wife?”
How the heck do you know?Anger twisted in his gut. “No, this is not about my wife.” He pushed past her. “It was a stupid mistake, okay?”
She grabbed his arm. “Hey, wait a second, please.”
He spun around. He felt his chest heaving, his nostrils flaring. He looked down at Savannah. The eight inches between them seemed like a foot. She looked fragile and scared, but not half as scared as he felt at that moment as his anger shifted and swirled through his stomach to his chest and burned a path to his heart.
“Sorry. I didn’t…”
He closed the distance between them and put his hands on her arms. She was so soft and so sexy, even now, scared and trembling. Every nerve in his body cried out for her touch, and his heart—his blasted heart—wanted to kiss that fear away, and so did he. He was so turned on, it took all his focus not to lean forward and taste her lips again.
“Jack,” she whispered. She reached up to touch his cheek, and he held tightly to her arms, forcing them back down. “It’s okay,” she said.
“No, it’s not okay.” He needed to ease the guilt of wanting Savannah.
“We all have hurt in our lives, Jack,” she said.
He felt her muscles flex beneath his palms as she reached her fingertips up and touched his arm, so tender and loving, even while he had her arms confined against her will.
“You don’t know about hurt like I do,” he said.
“Maybe not like you do, but I do know how much it hurts to lose someone you love and how, no matter what you do, you can’t let that love go. I know that it eats you up inside, and you feel like the person’s right there with you but you just can’t reach them,” she said.
He pushed away. “How? Wha—”
Savannah shrugged. “I’ve watched my father grieve for my mother my whole life, and I’ve grieved for her, too,” she admitted.
Jack let out an angry breath and growled, “You know what you saw, not what he felt.”
THE HURT AND anger in Jack’s voice sliced through Savannah’s heart like a knife. Her father was an expert at masking the pain of missing her mother, but the longing was evident in everything he did and said. Jack’s pain was raw, visceral, as if his wife’s death left a gaping wound and every breath carried a painful reminder that she was gone. She’d felt how his body had gone rigid when they’d kissed, as if he were scared of the kiss itself, and how his rock-hard body had competing impulses. There was no denying his instant arousal when their hips had come together.
“Your version of hurt is stubbing your toe on the streets of Manhattan,” he said.
