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Those were two big fucking lies, but he would give her nothing more. He glanced over to Wayne, his not-so-subtle or truthful warning for why he shut her out. She followed his line of sight before her dark gaze widened in seeming remembrance of her need to hide any history with him.
“Fine.” She marched toward him and grabbed his hand, tugging him forward.
If not for pure shock, he would have locked his knees and planted his feet. He would have refused to move. But his hurried steps swept him wherever she guided, his pulse thundering, while her soft, slender palm burned against the roughness of his.
He peered down at her pale pink nails, a wall of heat blooming in his chest right about where his heart would have been. Their first physical contact in ten years and nothing about his reaction made any sense.
By the time he looked up, they were halfway across her house and in her tiny bathroom. She turned the lock, setting off a sharp panic within him before she whizzed past.
“What are you doing?” He stepped as far from her as he could.
She leaned with her back to the sink, her darting gaze suggesting her heavy breaths had more to do with mutually raging emotions than any exertion from racing into this room. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. But we can’t keep living in this town without talking.”
Everything happened so fast, and if he wasn’t imagining things, a whole decade-old heat still lived between them. And just like ten years ago, he towered over her, his size taking up too much space in this cramped room, which only brought them closer.
Whatever her plans were in here, he needed to get out.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out small.
“That’s the second time you’ve apologized today.” He pinned her with an unwavering stare. “What are you sorry for this time?”
“I don’t know.” She gave a tight laugh but looked away. “Maybe for ruining your perfect life. Twice.”
He parted his lips, about to reply, but really, he didn’t know what to say to that. Had his life been perfect back then or even now?
“Look.” She flicked her gaze back up to him, the beautiful depth of her eyes stalling his heart for a beat. “We’re bound to keep bumping into each other, so we need to come up with a way to co-exist without things being so awkward.”
He scoffed and shook his head at the ridiculousness of that idea. “We have a hell of a lot to talk about, Emilia. We could be here all night.”
God, even that, the mention of being with her the entire night, deepened the thumping in his chest.
He looked her up and down, not wanting to make her feel like a piece of meat to be ogled, but not wanting her to get too comfortable around him, either. “And the not-so-funny thing about all that is, I don’t want to waste another breath talking about the past with you.”
Having not realized how true that statement was, his shoulders eased. The past hurt. The past also kept him from reality. The reality of what he felt here, of what he owed those close to him, and the emotions he perhaps had no place exploring. But fucking hell, he’d missed her.
Her fingers curled taut over the sink’s edge, her knuckles bent and jutting. “Fine with me. I don’t want to talk about the past, either. Let’s just figure out what to do while I’m living in Harlow.”
Whatever levity he might have had dimmed. While? So, her stay in Harlow might not be permanent.
Deciding to use the tight space against her, he leaned forward, hating her ability to leave him tied up on the inside when his reaction to her should have been simple. He should have hated her. Should have wanted to be anywhere but here. But now, he wasn’t so sure. And given the aching need stealing at his breaths, the limited space worked against him too.
“So, what’s your plan? We smile coyly at each other when we pass in the street, the only ones who know we’ve seen each other naked?” He schooled his face with a taunting smirk, a voice inside yelling at him to ease up. This wasn’t him. He didn’t want to hurt her. But another part wanted just that. “Or do we pretend we’re just a couple of friendly townsfolk who barely know each other? Or maybe I should come over every week, and we can braid each other’s hair…”
Her cheeks reddened along with the whites of her eyes, bringing his attention to the dark shadows underneath. Miss Bonacci wasn’t getting enough sleep. Why?
“That’s not what I meant.” Her words came out a hoarse whisper before her chin tilted down, and she stared at the floor.
His regret grew in the silence. Sure, he’d been hard on her, but the horrendous truth was, they couldn’t live in the same town without things being weird.
And unlike her, he didn’t want to pretend their hellish history didn’t exist.
She pushed off the counter and moved toward him. “Let’s just forget this. I should let you get back to work.”
A dull ache rose in his chest, the force of her impending exit hitting him with another horrendous truth. Emilia still dominated his thoughts. She still stirred his emotions. He still wanted to know her.
Or maybe I just plain want her.
Right. Which was why he stepped in her way and watched as her eyelids flared in beautiful surprise. He had no intention of letting her leave.
