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When his hand flattens on the side of my neck, I fight my hardest to resist the thrill that follows. The pad of his thumb strokes the front of my throat, and I shudder before murmuring, “Cheater.”
He knew I’d react exactly as I had when his mouth had been there in the darkness of my bedroom.
Slowly, as if guided by an invisible force, I drag the tip of my finger across his cheeks and nose, smiling when his lashes flicker.
“I was never a big fan of therapy,” he admits softly. “But this could definitely change my mind.”
“Why don’t you like therapy?”
The tips of his fingers trace my eyebrows, then my lips. “Being forced to face the ugliest parts of yourself gives most people hives, I think.”
I’m gifted a soft smile, and it’s as rare as it is beautiful.
I place my hand on his sternum, counting his thudding heartbeats. I’m desperate to give him a confession in return, but my mouth refuses to open.
The truth is, I don’t want Rowan to see the ugliest parts of me. If I had one drop of this man’s confidence, I would strip my makeup off, look him square in the eyes, and say, Here I am. Take me or leave me. I’d admit that I don’t know shit about flowers, or that I’ve completely failed one of my greatest heroes.
His expression shifts abruptly. The walls he’s meticulously built around himself lower, revealing a tenderness I’ve only seen glimpses of before, and a blanket of shame covers me.
How can I expect him to expose his insecurities while I refuse to show mine?
My heart gallops when his opposite hand finds the curve of my waist and gradually guides me into the warmth of his strong body. His lips twitch, face sculpted with determination to get me to react.
Piper watches us with a knowing grin, her presence seemingly fading into the background as the connection between Rowan and me takes center stage.
My resistance slips at the heat colliding between our hips, but I hold strong, hiding my reaction to him with a thinning mask of nonchalance.
“I’m impressed,” he whispers, his words dancing across my cheeks and eyelids, which grow heavier by the second. “But you’ll give. I’ve just got to find the right spot.”
Do not let him break you.
“I’m not used to this, but I’m willing to try for you.” Rowan bends, cocooning me in his embrace, and the second his nose slips below my ear, he exhales a shuddering breath against my skin. “Can you be patient with me?”
I latch onto his arms, gripping him tightly with a helpless whimper lodging in my throat. Resisting him is futile. With him holding me this way, it’s impossible to be angry, and I don’t know how she knew, but Piper was right. Beneath the frustration of the last few weeks, I find a soft place to land. A foundation of trust and understanding we’ve built that I hadn’t even known was there.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I confess, turning my face into him, absorbing his strength, his confidence. “Music is one of the few connections I have left with my mom, and I wanted you to experience that, too.”
“No, Molly, you did nothing wrong.” Rowan presses an achingly tender kiss to my temple. “Their wedding song has always been a trigger for me. But that doesn’t excuse the way I spoke to you, and I’m sorry.”
“See? You’re already opening up to one another.” Piper claps victoriously. “There’s hope for you after all.”
I smile shyly—still determined to give her hell for this—but to Rowan, I murmur, “Don’t worry about it.”
He slowly shakes his head. “I deeply regret hurting you.” I hold his gaze as his apology disarms me in a matter of seconds. “Please forgive me.”
I was determined to one-up him by breaking down his defenses, but I realize with sudden clarity that Rowan isn’t the only one protecting himself from being hurt. He’s not the only one putting up walls and shutting people out, either.
But today was the day things were going to change between us and, regardless of the repercussions, I nod. “I forgive you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Molly
“What’s going on?” Dad demands, interrupting the text I’m sending Raul.
I hide the screen from him with remorse sprouting in my chest. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
Raul’s response is thankfully quick, agreeing to meet me tomorrow for another delivery, and I slip my phone inside the front pocket of my overalls before taking the paintbrush Dad offers me.
