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He said with ME with such passion, with such ferocity, that I had to steady myself on the car, I got so weak.

He turned and stared at me. Looked at my lips… and then looked into my eyes.

And then leaned forward to kiss me.

I put out a hand to ward him off.

“No,” I said, my voice anguished.

He kept pressing forward, his lips within an inch of mine –

I scrambled back across the trunk, my body trembling.

But it was trembling with disappointment and heartache, not fear.

“No, I… I can’t,” I whispered.

“Why not?” he demanded – not angrily, but bewildered, like he couldn’t understand and desperately wanted to.

I sat there for a long, long moment, completely silent.

When I finally answered, I had to stifle a sob.

“My… my mother… she cheated on my dad when I was a kid.”

Getting those words out was incredibly painful, like pulling out an infected splinter… but it was a relief to finally say it. I’d never told anyone about it, not even my closest girlfriends when I was a teenager.

As soon as I said it, Derek’s body slumped the tiniest bit.

“Oh,” he said, as though he finally understood.

“It almost destroyed my family. Actually, it did destroy my family. Even though they stayed together, it was never the same.”

He nodded somberly. “…I can imagine.”

“That’s why I can’t… do anything with you. I don’t want… I can’t cheat on him,” I said, almost pleading with him.

He was silent a long time.

Then he nodded gently. “I understand.”

“…you… you do?”

“Yeah.” Then his voice changed from somber to playful, although he managed to not sound callous as he said it: “You should break UP with him so you’re not cheating on him, but… you can get around to that soon enough.”

“I’m not going to break up with him,” I whispered.

He shrugged noncommittally, like, If you say so.

“He’s a good guy,” I insisted.

“I know he is.”

I frowned. “How do you know?”

“Because if you love him, he’s got to be a good guy.”

That knocked the wind out of me.

I didn’t say anything for a long while.

“Do you love him?” Derek asked quietly.

“I… yes.”

It didn’t sound convincing, even to me.

“Are you in love with him?” Derek asked.

“It’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not. You can love somebody and care about them deeply… but being in love with somebody is your heart skipping a beat when they walk in the room. It’s waking up happy because you know you get to see them that day. You can’t wait to be with them again, and leaving them is torture.”

Derek’s words…

…it hurt my heart to hear them.

I tried to play it off by teasing him. “So your heart skips a beat when I walk in the room?”

But he answered me sincerely… and passionately.

“Yes.”

I didn’t say anything to that, because I was afraid I was going to cry.

He kept going.

“When you walk in the room, Kaitlyn – God, the way you walk… the way you swing your hips, and toss your hair… the way you smile at me? My heart stops every time.”

“That just sounds like you want to sleep with me,” I said, though without accusation.

“I do want to sleep with you. Badly. But I know the difference between being in love and being in lust. And I’m in love with you.”

I had to turn away. It was too intense – his gaze, his words… everything.

I was afraid of what I might do.

“Does he make your heart stop when he walks in a room?” Derek asked, his voice almost a whisper.

I looked out into the darkness, away from where I really wanted to look. “…I really care about him.”

“I didn’t ask you that.”

“…yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, my heart stops when he walks in the room.”

It was a lie.

And Derek knew it.

But he was too kind to call me on it.

There was a long, long silence, and then he said, “Lucky guy.”

He got off the trunk of the car, then walked around in front of me.

I looked at him, my heart thudding in my chest.

I thought he was going to try to kiss me again –

– and part of me desperately wanted him to.

But part of me was terrified.

Because I wasn’t sure I could resist this time.

But instead he wrapped his arms around me – those massive, powerful arms – and cradled me against him.

I could feel every curve of his chest, the firm hardness of his muscles. And I could hear his heart beating against my ear.

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