Don’t react.My fist balled so tight my fingernails bit into my palm.Ignore him.“Til’s made a little friend with one of the cattle farmer’s daughters.” The strain of trying not to get frustrated pinched my words. “Cal is setting up a playdate for them.”
“Matilda has plenty of friends already. At home. When are you coming back to Melbourne?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re staying here?” He barked a laugh. “Should I remind you how much you hated growing up in this backwater?”
“That was different. I was young.” And I was even more naive about the polished city men I’d daydreamed of dating as a stupid teenager. “My parents were chasing impossible dreams—”
“And no one blames you for repeating their negative patterns—”
“God.” I tossed the menu on the table in frustration. “I’m not repeating a damn thing about my parents’ life. I haven’t thrown all my money to the wind to buy a vineyard, and I’m not the same woman I was when I left for university. I’m excited to settle down here. The farm is a wonderful place for Til to grow up—”
“You live in a rundown cottage built by convicts in Hicksville Nowhere, Tasmania. That is noway formydaughter to grow up. Confront reality, Erin.”
I smirked. “You certainly are good at making me confront reality, Jeremy.”
He scowled but didn’t bite back. Silence was a stone wall between us until the server appeared beside him.
“What can I get you tonight?” she sang.
“Good evening”—he arched his neck to check her name tag—“Melissa. Can you please tell me what you recommend? There are far too many choices for a simple man like me.”
I narrowed my eyes on the flick of his hand through his hair.Simple man?What a joke. He was a psychiatrist from a well-to-do family who played tennis three nights a week and was fussy about wines. There was nothingsimpleabout him.
He was flirting with the waitress. It was subtle, but it was deliberate.
Jeremy claimed he wanted me back, but if I said yes, would this be my future? Would I spend every dinner over-analyzing how his voice lowered to that silky purr and wonder if the waitress bending over to point to something on the menu was a silent invitation he’d accept later when I was out of sight?
No thanks.
Forgive, maybe. But forget? I never could.
Callan never made me second-guess his feelings. His eyes never wandered. He still stared in amazement at our joined hands when we walked to the forest as Matilda ran ahead. He whispered compliments in my ear when he hugged me from behind in the kitchen. And the way he kissed me…
God.
Callan’s kisses were sweet in public but passionate and demanding in private. Sinking into the sofa with him pressed against me was intoxicating. His lips hot on my skin, he slipped a cautious hand past the waistband of my panties and murmured, “Do I make you feel good?” as if he wasn’t about to make me come on his fingers.
The man knew how to pleasure a woman. No, not any woman. Me. He got off on pleasuringme. I was enough. Every time I tried to return the favor, he batted my hand away and dove straight for my pussy. He was obsessed with making me come.
I grabbed the glass of water and took gulp after gulp. A deep ache throbbed between my legs. Those memories were too much for this dinner. I was burning up.
“Erin?”
“Huh?”
Jeremy threw his napkin on the table. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah?”
“Like fuck you are.”
My jaw clenched, and I stared at Jeremy, unblinking. He was clever enough to realize that his sharp tone wouldn’t work on me anymore. The wooden chair creaked when he folded his ankle on his knee. He was trying to look relaxed, but I wasn’t fooled.
“I’m sorry.” Jeremy reached across the table for my hand. Too slow. I snatched it away. “I’m just frustrated that I’m trying so hard to bridge this gap between us, and you’ve been off in La La Land—”
I stood up.
