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“You mean prison guard wasn’t just an analogy?”
She started walking again, faster than before. “No, he really is a prison guard—at work and at home. So it may be easy for you to look at it and think it’s nice or sweet or whatever the heck you think it is, but try living it.”
Wes’s brows rose. Whoa, someone had a short fuse on this subject. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, wondering why he’d defended her father when he’d been on the receiving end of the interrogation. After a quick glance around, Wes extended his stride to catch up to her.
“He’d like to believe I’m still a virgin,” she continued. “My God, I’m twenty-eight years old, and I have every right to my own life without him or Charlie butting their noses in where they’re not wanted! If I was smart I would’ve moved out of state instead of just down the block…idiot.”
Wes hunched his shoulders and spoke without giving himself a chance to rationalize why it would be smarter to shut up. “My father was shot before I was old enough to have any memories of him, and my mom was too busy working to have time to care about what I did, or who I did it with.”
He felt her gaze on him and glanced over as they turned onto her block. Lifting a shoulder to shrug off the shocked sympathy in her expression, he added, “All I’m saying is, the grass isn’t always greener.”
She averted her head and walked in silence. Wes followed, replaying the conversation in his head. By the second time, he realized what a preachy jerk he sounded like. Man, had things ever changed. Never mind that he’d just met this woman tonight, but he had no business dumping his lousy childhood on her and in effect chastising her for venting frustration that she had every right to feel.
She was right, he hadn’t lived it and couldn’t possibly compare it to his own experiences as if his were so much worse that she should quit whining. Maybe her bold spirit did feel imprisoned by the protection her family obviously forced upon her.
They neared her porch, and as she dug her keys from her pocket, Wes caught her arm to turn her around. He quickly let go and shoved his hands in his front pockets because that one touch made him want so much more.
“I guess it’s my turn to apologize…I shouldn’t have said that, and I’m sorry.”
Her keys jangled in her hand but she avoided his gaze. “Actually, you’re right.”
“No, I was wrong to suggest that your feelings aren’t valid—you have every right to them and I shouldn’t have said anything.”
A smile lifted the corner of her lips, and now she gave him a quizzical look.
“What?” he asked, wary of her expression as she looked at him as if trying to see inside him. He felt exposed, more naked than when he’d stood here two hours ago in only his boxers.
“Seriously…who are you?” she asked. He frowned, but she continued before he could figure
out the question. “Men don’t talk like that—at least not the men I know.”
He still didn’t get it. “I only meant it wasn’t fair of me to act as if my life was so much worse than yours, therefore implying you have nothing to complain about.”
Her smile widened. “See, that’s what I mean.”
“What?” he asked with exasperation. “A guy can’t apologize?”
“Of course you can, but the fact that you even feel a need to is what’s so impressive. I know for a fact it takes years of therapy for some men to recognize women have feelings that they don’t consider hormonal or irrational, yet you’re worried about invalidating mine.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Just forget it.”
“Hold on…so, now you’re taking it back?” She crossed her arms over her chest, but a hint of a smile played with the corners of her mouth.
Wes had a feeling there was no arguing with her. He rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh, reigning in his own smile. “No, I’m not—but this conversation is officially over.”
“Ha!” She pointed a finger at him. “I knew you were a nice guy.”
He drew a deep breath. He worked at being the nice guy, but her saying it made him uncomfortable because he knew too many things he had to make up for yet. “I’m not that nice.”
“Sure you are.” Her words were casual, but she said them with such conviction that his chest tightened, and his heart pounded faster.
He shook his head, avoiding her eyes. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tara—a lot you don’t want to know about—”
He about choked on his words when she stepped right into his personal space and laid her hands on his chest. “I know all I need to know right now.”
He couldn’t breathe. Then, God help him, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his as he sucked in a breath. Her lips were soft and warm, her body so close that the vanilla scent he’d caught a whiff of earlier now invaded his senses. His hands clenched in his pockets as desire rocked him to the core.
It took everything he had to grasp her shoulders to push her away, and even then, he waited an extra second…one more…then pushed.
