Page 45 of Echoes of Him

“I’ve always thought it would be really romantic to eat out under the stars, just to talk, and laugh with someone you really like. And slow dance. I love slow dancing.” She winces, lets her head fall to one side. “Oh, god, that sounds so cringeworthy now that I’ve actually said it out loud.”

I look down at her hand, rolling the grass through her fingertips, and then I glance back up to meet her eyes. “I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”

Her expression softens, the heat in her gaze urges me forward, and before I know what I’m doing, the back of my hand touches the side of Sienna’s leg, the supple fabric of her skirt forgiving beneath my calloused fingertips.

At first she doesn’t move. She doesn’t say anything. At first she just sits there staring down at my hand. She’s deafeningly quiet, all the bossy superiority of our previous sessions long forgotten.

Silence stretches out between us as she watches my fingers moving slowly against her thigh, sliding the silky material back and forth, a deliberate movement that causes my breath to accelerate, and I try not to look at her with so much obvious fascination.

But I can’t help it. I’m in awe of every part of her—her body and her mind.

And that’s the strangest part of all because never before have I considered a woman’s thoughts as much as I do when I’m with Sienna.

“Kael,” she whispers. Her voice is thready as if she’s struggling to breathe, and she’s piercing me with eyes that seem a million times more intense than they did when we first sat down.

I know I should move my hand away from her leg. I know that’s the right thing to do, the proper thing to do. But memories flip through my mind like one of those old-fashioned movie reels, skipping, flickering, trying to recall a time when just sitting beside a woman in the sunshine has caused me so much happiness.

I don’t want this feeling to end.

“Kael…” she says again softly, followed by a beat of perfect silence. I look up at her face and find she’s still staring down at the spot where my fingers are tracing slow circles against her thigh, and my brain goes into shutdown mode.

“You don’t have to be afraid with me, Sienna.”

“I’m not afraid,” she says faintly, but I get the feeling she doesn’t actually believe what she’s saying, and to be honest, I’m not even sure we’re talking about the same things.

“Yeah, you are.”

“Afraid of what?”

“I think you’re afraid of being hurt again. I don’t blame you for that, I honestly don’t. But I also think you’re doing yourself a massive disservice by not letting yourself really feel.”

“I feel,” she protests.

“Do you?”

She lets out an audible gasp when I gently trace her knee with the back of my thumb. “Don’t hide behind the walls just because it’s someplace safe to hide. You deserve more than that.”

We’re quiet for a few minutes longer with nothing but the sound of the breeze whistling through the trees behind us and the occasional roar of a truck passing by the front of the building, reminding me we’re still in the city and not in fact alone in our own private little paradise.

My mind spins just thinking about what this woman does to me, churning with disappointment at the very realistic thought that she may never be mine. I want her. And I’m used to getting what I want. But this time, I’m not so sure.

For the first time in years, it’s not bourbon or tequila that’s left me feeling off balance. Whether I want to admit it or not, I’m completely drunk on this woman, and I want to tell her, but I’m not a complete fucking lunatic. That’ll ruin everything.

What would she even say?

That I’m delusional? That she’s going to have me assigned to another therapist? That she’d rather die a slow, painful death than admit she has feelings for a guy with a drinking problem and a sordid past?

Just as I’m about to say something, Sienna unexpectedly reaches down and lifts my hand from her leg, slowly, deliberately.

What was I thinking?I’m so fucking stupid.

I’ve definitely crossed the line.

Swallowing harshly to cover up my mistake, I brace for impact, the consequences of my actions just another reminder that I’ve still got a really long way to go to being the kind of guy who deserves a woman like Sienna.

“Jonesy, I’m—”

“Shh,” she says, pressing her finger against my lips. “You don’t have to say anything. Let’s not say anything.”

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