Page 67 of Holding On To Good

Chapter Twelve

I don’t want to see it.

It was the same for her. The reason she’d never set him up with any of her single friends. Why she rarely asked about any of the women he dated.

They were standing next to the line defining their friendship and she was desperate to keep them from crossing it.

“I have to go,” she said, tugging free of his grip. “Good night, Urban.”

She rounded the island then made her way through the living room, but he followed. She picked up her pace, her steps short and quick. Three feet from the door, she lunged for the handle—

“Why did you kiss me?”

Her fingers tightened on the cool metal. Keeping her back to him, she shook her head. Pulled on the handle.

He was there before she could open the door more than a few inches, one hand above her head, holding it still.

“Why did you kiss me, Willow?”

She shivered. Did he have to say her name like that? All deep and gravelly and so very different from how he usually said it?

Did he have to stand so close? She couldn’t so much as inhale without breathing in his familiar scent—sandalwood and spice and soap. Couldn’t move so much as an inch without feeling his body heat.

She stared out at the patio. “I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Stiffening, she faced him, arms straight at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Damn it, he had no right to ask her that. No right to push for a truth that would change everything between them.

“Yes,” she said, looking into his eyes and doing what she’d done since that day in his bedroom sixteen years ago. She lied. “That was the only reason.”

She opened the door, this time making it two steps onto the patio before he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and gently turned her to face him, his grip light. So light she could have easily broken it. All she had to do was step back.

All she had to do was walk away.

“I think,” she said, her words a dry, husky rasp, “that the best thing I can do for our friendship right now is leave.” Inhaling carefully, she stared at the relative safety of his broad chest. Wondered briefly, foolishly, if his heart was beating as hard as hers. “And the best thing you can do is let me go.”

“What if I can’t?” he asked.

Her head jerked up to find him studying her intently. Each place his gaze skimmed warmed—the bridge of her nose and tip of her chin, the line of her jaw and slope of her cheek.

“You can,” she told him.

“What if,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to?”

Her breath caught. Step back, her inner voice screamed at her. For the love of all that’s holy and good, STEP THE FUCK BACK!

Step back and end this insanity before it goes too far.

Before you start weaving fantasies about what could be.

She stayed absolutely still.

Except, she wasn’t absolutely still, because Urban was ever-so-slowly pulling her closer, centimeter by excruciating centimeter. And she, like a volunteer lost in a hypnotist’s thrall, swayed toward him, her upper body seeking that lifelong fantasy. But her feet stayed rooted to their spot, trying to keep her grounded in reality.

She’d spent too much of her life wanting something far beyond her reach.

Except, it wasn’t beyond her reach. Urban was here, right here, solid and steady and everything she’d ever wanted.

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