Page 102 of Gilt

“Get your caveman in check,” I warn him, “or I’m not telling you anything.”

Jameson steps back and runs both his hands through his copper waves. He pauses like that as if he’s considering pulling out his own hair, but he waits for me to continue.

“I overheard something. I asked Leighton about it, someone pushed us.”

“But you aren’t in danger,” he mutters. “What did she tell you?”

“Nothing. She never got a chance to.”

He looks to the sky as if pleading with the Gods for patience. Then he turns the full force of his smoldering gaze on me. I can’t say no to that look, not when it’s coupled with his strong jawline and insane good looks.

“What did you want to find out from her?” He rephrases the question.

If I tell him what I overheard, he’ll know I doubted him. I make a choice knowing that I can’t quite anticipate what the consequences will be. “She was talking to Monroe, something about that she had seen what had happened and she was protecting him.”

“Who is him?” Jameson asks in confusion.

“To be honest, I assumed it was you, at first.”

“Go on,” he says after a moment of silence that seems to extend farther than the desert surrounding us.

“I thought she was talking about you. She was telling Monroe that she had seen what had happened but that she wasn’t going to tell anyone what he had done.”

“And you thought she was talking about me killing my father?”

“I didn’t know what to think. Everything was chaos. You’d just been arrested and—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he stops me in a soft voice, but the disappointment in his tone says otherwise.

“I only wanted to know what she was talking about. When I confronted her, she told me they’d been talking about Jonas.”

“You told me that night you believed I was innocent, but you still jumped to that conclusion.” He’s not interested in what Leighton might know about Jonas, only in what conclusions I’d drawn about him.

“I did. I still do,” I whisper.

“Why?” It’s less of a question and more of a plea. “I don’t understand how you can believe me. Sometimes I don’t even believe myself.”

“Don’t say that.” I move toward him, but he looks away.

“I’m no good for you.”

The sincerity in his words makes my heart sink. I grab his chin and force him to face me. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“How can you say that? Your dad hates me. I spend most of my time worrying so much about your safety that I hired someone to follow you, and you’ve been dragged into a murder investigation. I’ve done nothing to deserve you.”

“You set me free,” I whisper. “I didn’t have a life before you. I refused to have one. I’d just accepted that nothing was ever going to change and had half-buried myself in other people’s trinkets at the store. Then you changed everything.”

“Out here”—he glances around before returning his gaze to mine — “I can see for miles in any direction, but right now, all I see is you. I think you’re the only thing I’ve ever seen clearly.”

I don’t need him to explain, because it’s exactly how I feel.

He takes a single step forward, closing the short space between us. “I love you, Emma Southerly.”

It takes a moment for his words to soak into me. I’ve known I loved him for a while now but hearing him say it, I can’t find the words to respond.

Jameson doesn’t wait for me to respond. He continues, “I think I fell in love with you when you walked into my kitchen and made me that macaroni and cheese.”

“And you’ve made me work for it all this time?” I tease, sniffing as the first tears break loose and stream down my cheeks.