Page 122 of Carry Me Home

The invitation hangs in the air. Clear. Unmistakable.

‘Come on, let’s get in, it’s getting chilly.’ I pull on the handle of the door and push it open, stepping out and closing it before swiftly making my way to her side and helping her out. Her hair is silver under the starlight. She’s close enough that I can smell her perfume – warm, floral.

‘Cara—’

‘Come on.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘You’re right, it’s bloody freezing out here.’

I follow her up the stairs to the second-level flat, and as we do I take in the curve of her arse, the slight sway. Is there a response there? In the pit of my stomach? Can I step between this and what we could be if I could just get out of my own way?

She opens the front door and I swallow hard as the light flicks on, encasing our shared home, my new home, in a golden light.

The keys rattle onto the small dining-room table and then she turns, the brilliant blue of her gaze sweeping my face.

Her weight shifts forward, closer into my space, filling my senses with the warmth of her perfume again.

It would be so easy. Hell, it was only a few months ago that I had no issues ripping off that body-skimming floral dress she wore to Sophie and Stewart’s wedding. But then I’d been fuelled by a hideous cocktail of alcohol, and right now I’m only fuelled by some Diet Coke and mild indigestion.

I take a breath.

Then another.

And it is easy, leaning forward and glancing my mouth across hers, feeling the soft sigh that escapes between her lips.

It’s easy to run my fingers through her silky hair, watching her eyes shutter close in pleasure as I lean down to kiss her again, firmer this time, with more intention and less question. Her mouth opens under mine, letting me steal inside, and heat floods through my system, curling in my stomach, tightening my balls. My free hand slips under the edge of her top, palming the smooth skin of her stomach.

‘Tom,’ she whispers, and I jolt. Eyes flying open.

I blink.

Because for one awful moment, I was kissing Nina in my head.

Cara’s forehead crinkles with a frown. ‘Tom?’

Automatically, I take a step back. Space rushes between us – cool, much needed space.

‘Tom, if you’re not ready—’ Her voice is husky. Her breath is ragged.

‘It’s not about ready.’

‘Then what is it about?’

I don’t know how to answer that. How do I explain that everything here is right – the practice, the people, the woman standing right in front of me – but it still feels wrong.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I just… I can’t. Not yet.’

Cara nods. The hope drains from her face slowly, replaced by resignation, held with dignity.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘That’s okay.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Stop apologising.’ She turns for her room, and I wish to fuck I could ask her to stop, to come back, and I could pick it up where we stopped. But I can’t, because I kissed her and I closed my eyes, and behind those closed eyes it was Nina I was seeing.

Still Nina.

‘Cara—’

‘Goodnight, Tom.’ She pauses at her door and turns back. ‘Just so you know – I’m not going to wait forever. I like you, but I’m not going to spend my life hoping someone learns to love me back. I’ve done that before. It doesn’t end well.’