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Maybe he won’t leave.
A strangled laugh escaped me. The odds of him staying were no better than they were twelve years ago. If he stayed, it would mean I lost. A rush of relief washed over me at the thought. And at the realization, I tripped on a branch and stumbled. Then stopped.
If I lost, would it mean I could keep him?
I shook my head and soldiered on, stomping in his direction.
Wishing was futile. Hoping was masochistic. When it came to Duke and me, there was no future. There never was and there never would be. Younger me learned that lesson the hard way, and older me wasn’t proving to be much wiser. I’d la, la, la’d my way straight into a corner.
I burst into the clearing like a crazy person, finding Duke already stretched out on the blanket and cushions I’d stored out here for convenience. He looked up from the book in his hand, his brows clicking together. He started to rise, but before he made it to sitting, I was in his lap, my kiss punishing.
It was his fault that I loved him. It was his fault that I was here. He’d weaseled his way into my heart, and I hated him for it just as much as I loved him.
He took my face in his hands, holding me still so he could back away, concerned. “What happened?”
I fumbled with his T-shirt, tugging the hem toward his shoulders. “Nothing.”
When I made to kiss him again, he kept space between us. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want to talk, Duke. Please, don’t make me talk about it,” I begged. “If I do, I’ll end up leaving, and neither of us wants that.”
Indecision deepened in his eyes.
“Don’t ask questions,” I whispered, fighting to tamp down my emotions, buttoning them down with a joke and a smile. “Just make good on that promise you made to my vagina earlier. It’s mad at you.”
Laughter eased his worried face. “Then I’d better have a talk with it.” He drew me closer.
“You’d better be convincing,” I said against his lips.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He took the challenge seriously. Every flex and release of lips held purpose, determined and possessive. His fingertips trailed my jaw, sliding around to my nape, my neck in the curve of his palm with a squeeze. A twist of his body, and I was on my back, his hips pinning me to the ground. I tried to wriggle loose, to take control—I’d lost too much already—but he kept me where I was, kissed me deep until I was soft and pliant and helpless beneath him.
Because that was what he did to me—he left me helpless. Defenseless. He’d somehow slipped back into my life, into my heart, into my world, just to disassemble it all. What I thought I knew, what I thought I wanted, was scrambled up and scattered around his feet.
Why couldn’t it be simple? Why couldn’t I love a man who was easy? Was I a masochist, or was pain just part of loving him? Were we destined to lose each other over and again, or was there a future for us?
I knew the answer was yes, but one of us would have to sacrifice everything to get there. And neither of us could do that, it seemed. I’d been waiting all this time for an answer to make itself known, for the end to work itself out in the hopes we’d stumble on a compromise. But here we were, the election days away, no closer to a happy ending than we’d ever been. In fact, it was bleaker than ever. Because now I knew I loved him, and that ruined everything.
His hot mouth on my collarbone teased my attention away from my racing thoughts. His fingertips slid one strap over my shoulder so his hand could cup my bare breast and my nipple tightened against his palm in answer. Down his mouth moved, between the valley of my breasts, along the swell of one to close around its peaked nipple in a quiet sort of worship.
The skirt of my dress slid up my thighs when I spread them wider, squeezing his ribs as he descended to take on the task he’d called himself to, settling between my legs until the backs of my knees rested on his shoulders. I watched his face as he traced the aching center of me, parted me, opened his mouth to devour me.
A sigh, and my chin tilted up to the stars. I saw those stars when I closed my eyes in bursts and flashes, but beyond sensation were unspoken words. Promises he couldn’t keep lived in his lips, on the tip of his tongue, in his heart that was mine though he couldn’t give it to me. The truth of his feelings was written across my skin by fingertips that owned me but wouldn’t claim me.
