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Six
“Why do you do that?” she muttered. “Do you like embarrassing me?”
“No. Not really. Maybe I just enjoy seeing your beautiful skin turn pink. Like a dogwood blossom in spring.”
“Stop it.” She had consumed her wine too quickly. Now her head spun. “I asked you a serious question, but you don’t miss any chance to make me uncomfortable.”
His eyes looked less green in the low light. “Believe me, Fliss. I’d like nothing more than to make you very comfortable.” His fingertip traced a small circle on her knee. “I like these jeans. You look eighteen again.”
She put her hand over his, meaning to push him away. But when she felt how hot he was, how alive, she relented. Twining her fingers with his sent her stomach into a free fall. “I’m not that girl anymore. If you’re looking for the fountain of youth, you’ll have to search elsewhere. I’ve gained fifteen pounds since those days. I have wrinkles. Maybe even one or two gray hairs.”
“Liar,” he said with a grin.
“I’ve been wondering what it would be like to kiss you again,” she whispered, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand. “But I can’t ask, because it wouldn’t be fair if I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“That’s a conundrum,” he said. His words got all low and croaky. “But I can handle it.”
“What if I can’t?” It was an entirely honest question. She was bone-deep scared.
“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he swore.
“Unless you’re the one doing the hurting.”
He winced. “Do you think so little of me?”
“I think you have your life all mapped out. I do, too. To play games would be dangerous.”
“You don’t think we could keep it light and easy?”
She lifted her hand and caressed his eyebrow. It was silky and thick. “Knowing us, no. Of course, you might have changed. You may flit from one flower to another these days.”
He groaned. “That’s the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”
“At least you know it’s a metaphor. Otherwise, you might never have passed senior English.”
He bowed his head. His shoulders slumped. Then he looked up at her with so much pain on his face she was shocked. “I’m sorry about the baby, Fliss. You were in agony, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to make it better. I’ve carried that with me for fifteen years.”
“You’re absolved,” she said quietly. “Nothing about what happened was your fault. It happens to dozens of couples every day. Not unusual at all.”
“Then why did it feel like our world ended?”
They sat there staring at each other. Slowly, with what seemed like no intent at all, they leaned forward. She felt his breath on her cheek, smelled the wonderful scent of warm man and aftershave.
He cupped her face in his hands. “I like having you under my roof. Tell me this isn’t a burden to you. Tell me I haven’t ruined your life.”
She swallowed, trying to find the air that had escaped her lungs and left her breathless. “My life is just fine.”
“Do you still want to kiss me?”
“I said I wondered what it would be like. Not the same thing at all.”
“Splitting hairs, Fliss. Maybe you should have been a lawyer instead of a flight attendant.”
The urge to press her lips to his was fierce. Finally, she realized he wasn’t going to take the leap for her. He wasn’t going to let her play the victim. This was the man who swore he would never propose to her again. Maybe that proclamation included lesser activities as well.
She lifted her chin. Closed her eyes. Puckered up. Just to see what would happen.
After ten seconds ticked by with no kiss, she lifted her lashes and looked at him, feeling foolish. His sexy smile made her sweat. “Maybe I don’t even like you,” she complained.
