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I sit up halfway, but that’s a mistake because now I’m looking right down at his face. It was one thing to refuse him when I was standing a couple of feet away. But when I’m sprawled on top of him, his bare chest beneath me, his eyes still dark with desire…
My mouth is on his before the logical side of my brain has the chance to remind me that this is a very bad idea. I must have caught him by surprise again because once more it takes about half a second before he responds to the kiss. But when he does respond, it’s with a hunger I wasn’t expecting, even after the last time. His lips attack mine, and his arms slide around me, holding me against his body. My nerves come to life as our tongues tangle with each other. I need to breathe, but I can’t bring myself to tear my mouth away from his.
Only a short time ago, I was in a zombie-like trance at the luncheon. Numb. Just trying to get through it all. This is the opposite. Every part of me is awake. Not just my body. My mind. My emotions. Everything I’ve been holding back since I arrived here seems to rush forward at once, and I pour that desperate energy into my kiss. Into my hands as they explore the muscles of his chest. Into my legs as they twine with his.
I have nowhere else to send it. All my grief. All my anger. All my guilt. I want to forget all about it. Send it out of me.
Ward’s hands slide down and cup either side of my butt, pressing me down against him. I moan against his mouth. There’s a need, an urgency in his touch that I’ve never felt before. Not even with Ian.
Oh God—Ian.
I freeze, my lips still against Ward’s. What am I doing?
I can’t do this again. I won’t do it. Not to someone else. Not when I’m still hurting Ian.
I jerk upright. Ward’s eyes are still slightly glazed, but I see a sliver of uncertainty there. He reaches up toward my cheek. “What…?”
I pull away before he can touch me and scramble to my feet. I was supposed to stay away from men. I was supposed to stop using other people as a distraction. How am I supposed to sort out my crap when I make the same mistakes over and over again?
“Is everything okay?” Ward asks.
He’s already on his feet behind me. I glance around for my shoes, but sure enough, they’re on the ground outside the window. Too bad.
“Everything’s fine,” I tell Ward. I don’t look at him. My skin’s still flushed, my body still eager to lose itself in his. I guess you can’t just wish away old weaknesses.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him softly.
And then, for the second time in a week, I run away from him.
CHAPTER FIVE
As usual, the universe is quick to dole out some instant karma for my indiscretion. Not half an hour after the luncheon ends, I’m informed that I will be accompanying Haymore and the Carolsons on their little tour of the grounds this afternoon.
I’ve spent every minute since I left Ward beating myself up for being such an idiot. I’m not an animal. I should be able to make it through a day without trying to jump someone’s bones. I don’t care how upset I am—I promised myself that I wouldn’t look for that kind of comfort anymore.
It’s hard enough, remembering how I treated Ian. How easily I gave in to those urges, even when I looked into his eyes and saw emotions I knew I could never return. I don’t want to be that girl any longer. I don’t want to take two steps backward for every one I take forward.
I need to take responsibility for myself. And that means avoiding temptation—Ward—at all costs. It also means sitting down and responding to Ian’s email. Apologizing for the way I treated him once and for all.
So while Mr. Haymore’s gathering his things for the tour, I quickly pull up my personal email and open a reply box.
Ian—
There was never any need for you to apologize for the things that happened between us. I take full responsibility for all of it, and I hate that I’ve caused you guilt on top of the pain. It’s my turn to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being selfish. I’m sorry for forgetting about our work and thinking only about my own problems. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for putting you in a position that made you feel like you were at fault for any of it.
There. I’ve done it. But it sounds so… distant. So impersonal. Is that all I have to say to him after the way things ended between us? After everything he’s done for me?
My fingers dance across the keyboard again.
I’ve been trying to figure things out. Be better. Be stronger. You are still the best man I’ve ever known, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought of you a lot since I left Chiang Mai. That said, I ask nothing of you. You don’t have to come here. You don’t even have to respond to this email. It’s enough to know that you don’t hate me completely for the way I treated you.
Mr. Haymore’s calling for me, so I don’t have time to second-guess my words. I hope they’re enough. I send off the email before I have the chance to chicken out.
I did the right thing, I tell myself. He needs to move on. Forget about me.
Still, it hurts a little, cutting Ian out of my life. Before things got complicated between us, he was my friend and colleague. And I meant what I said in my email—he’s the best man I’ve ever known. I’m not allowed to be selfish. I’m not allowed to hurt him anymore. That’s my final gift to him.
I force myself to push the issue out of my mind as I follow Mr. Haymore to the front lobby. That part of my life is over. I don’t need Ian—or anyone—to support me anymore. The sooner I get that into my head, the sooner I can stop relying on old crutches and move on.
The Carolsons are already waiting for us by the front doors. The women have changed out of their heels since the luncheon, but otherwise the family is still impeccably dressed. And they still seem happy enough to ignore me.
I, too, managed to grab a pair of sensible flats from my room. As for the heels I left outside the gift shop window… well, I don’t care if I ever see them again. It’s not worth the risk of finding myself face-to-face with Ward again.
“Well, then,” says Mr. Haymore, giving an uncharacteristically large smile. “Where shall we begin?”
They decide to start with the grounds, since it’s so nice out this afternoon. And so we move outside and head across the lawn. Mr. Haymore walks at the head of the group, pointing out the various “improvements” they’ve made around here. Sometimes Carolson or his wife asks a question, but for the most part they just listen and nod. I’m walking to the side of the group, and I steal glances at Carolson as often as I can. His face is carefully blank, a mask of politeness. My father had a similar expression—it was the one he always wore during functions he was obligated to attend, or when he was dealing with people he didn’t really like.
