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“Why are you here? Why won’t you just go away. We aren’t getting back together. When are you going to get it?”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets. “I’ll never get it. I’ll never give up on us, dammit. We’re meant. Period.”
My heart raced. “We don’t work. Been there, done that.”
“We always worked.” He took two steps forward and loomed over me.
The skin between my shoulder blades zinged with awareness and my nipples pushed against the light tank I was wearing. It was so freaking hot even with my fan going. This summer had been a scorcher in every way.
From emotions to the endless lust that crackled between us. It would be so much easier if I could just turn it off. How the hell was I supposed to get on with my life—with this new life—if he was always here?
To go pour my heart out at the gallery and pray that my work was good enough. That someone would want to buy my paintings for their living room. My very personal diary pieces.
God, I was so stupid.
Who would want them?
He framed my face with his big hands. The new callouses zinging across my skin making it even harder for me to step back.
“What’s wrong? You’re intentionally picking a fight which isn’t like you.”
“How would you know? We barely know one another.”
His eyelids drew heavy and he peered down between us to my obvious reaction of his nearness. “Ah, love, I know all about you.”
I pushed him back and turned away from him. “No you don’t.”
“Oh, but I do.” He came up behind me, his long fingers curling around my upper arms. He drew me back against his warmth. “I can see the worry in your golden eyes.” He lowered his mouth to my shoulders. “You get this little line between your brows.”
I shook him off. “I do not.”
“You may be the artist between us, but I know your face better than anyone. And if I had the ability to paint it, that’s all I’d do.”
“Quit it with the romance. You’re pissing me off.”
He laughed. “Only you would get pissed off with soft words.”
“What’s wrong, Zoe?”
I don’t know what did it. Him actually using my name or the obvious concern in his voice. I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want to think about him being there for me. Not when I’d let him in so easily before and paid for it.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever get him out of my system.
I hopped into his arms and fused my mouth to his. He tasted of the blueberries that were mid-harvest right now. And that unique Ian taste that I just couldn’t define, but knew deep in my bones.
He went stone still. He didn’t drop me, but he didn’t kiss me back either. I’d been adamant about us not falling into this trap.
Into the skin on skin we did so freaking well.
“Just shut up and touch me, Ian.”
“Magic, please.” His voice was husky with emotion. “I don’t know how to be with you without loving you.”
“Can’t it just be this?” I tangled my fingers in his hair. I understood this. I needed this to get through my day. I needed his strength to go and be the artist I’d always dreamed of being.
It galled me to say it even to myself.
But I was stronger with him. And I was so afraid of letting that back inside me. Letting him matter again. Because a little bit of Ian would never be enough.
