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Her fingertips trailed over his chest. “Me neither.”
“Back to normal.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, but she tensed slightly in his arms. After a moment, she sat up, her bare breasts swaying and making him want to reach for her and pull her back down to him. Getting out of bed, she crossed the room and opened the curtains, letting the sunshine pour in. She climbed back in bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. Chewing on her bottom lip, she stared out the window. The back of Dean’s neck prickled, but he wasn’t sure why.
Finally, she spoke. “Not everything has to go back to the way it was before, you know.” He met her eyes, which were filled with hope and something else. Something deep and raw, and . . .
Fuck. He suddenly felt both too hot and too cold, and even though he wasn’t a religious man, he sent up a silent prayer.
Don’t do it, Carly. Don’t say what I think you’re going to. Don’t ask me for things I can’t give. Don’t wreck us.
But it was too late, because when he didn’t say anything she continued on, squaring her shoulders as though going into battle. “I don’t want what we have to just be pretend, Dean. I want it to be real. And I don’t want it to be over. I . . . I have feelings for you, real ones, and I think we owe it to ourselves to see where this could go.”
He let out a soft curse and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We had a deal.” He felt as though she’d convinced him to walk a tightrope and had just yanked his safety net away. A flicker of anger rose up, but he squashed it down. He didn’t want to fight with her.
Some of the light went out of her eyes, and she pulled the sheet tighter around herself, hiding her body from view. Shielding herself. “I know we did, and I’m sorry, but it’s so good between us. I know it’s a big step, but I think what we have is worth taking a chance on. Don’t you?”
He sat up, his stomach churning, panic tightening his lungs. “I can’t.”
She sighed, her shoulders deflating. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“Does it matter? I’m not the guy for you, Carly. I can’t give you what you want.” He shoved his hands through his hair. “Fuck, this is what I was afraid would happen. This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“So you’re telling me that none of this meant anything to you?” She picked at a loose thread in the sheets, shaking her head.
“Of course it meant something to me,” he said, his voice rising as his frustration and fear made it hard to think.
“But you’re still not willing to date me when we get home? To see what we could have, together, for real?”
“You want something I can’t give.” He met her gaze, which was completely shuttered now. “And you know that.”
“God, that’s such utter bullshit. And you know that.” She took a breath. “I thought we had something real. Something worth fighting for.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she continued on. “You told me I was enough.”
His heart slammed against his ribs, and a part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her that she was enough, that she was so much more than just enough. But he didn’t. He was too paralyzed by fear and doubt.
“And I meant it,” he finally managed, his voice hoarse.
“And you care about me.” Her voice was flat.
“Of course I do. But how I feel about you doesn’t change who I am. Just because I care about you doesn’t mean I’m not completely wrong for you. I’ll hurt you.”
She got out of bed, taking the sheet with her. “Too late.” She stopped halfway to the bathroom, the white cotton bunched around her, dragging on the floor. Pain-filled eyes met his, and he felt nauseous, knowing he’d done that. Knowing he couldn’t fix it.
“You, Dean Grayson, are an idiot.” She turned and went into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click behind her.
* * *
Carly sat by herself in the open air lobby, drinking a cappuccino and picking at a breakfast pastry she didn’t want. She’d known that she had to take a chance with Dean, to be honest about how she felt. She just hadn’t expected it to go that badly. He’d been open and vulnerable with her, happy and fun, and yet he still couldn’t see past his baggage to what they could have.
He wasn’t willing to take a chance on them, despite how good things had been, and God, that hurt. She’d found him—the man who checked every box on the list, and then some—but he didn’t want to be with her.
She sighed, swirling her spoon through the foam. After she’d set fire to their relationship, she’d quickly gathered up her things and retreated to the lobby, needing some space. To think, and sulk, and throw herself a little pity party.
Rejected. Again. But this one really hurt, because he knew her, better than almost anyone on the planet, and he’d said no.
She was such an idiot, and so was he.
“This seat taken?” Rose stood at the edge of the table, a cup of tea in her hands. She wore a light pink velour tracksuit, and had a pink passion flower tucked behind her ear, the color vibrant against her white curls.
