Page 22 of Every Heartbeat After

It doesn’t matter that she’s clearly upset. It should, but I’m too damn excited.

Ten months is a long time. Enough to wonder if I imagined what we shared. Enough to question every word, every touch, until I’ve dissected it into nothing more than a bunch of coincidences. But this… thisreliefthat washes over me the minute I see her. That cannot be a coincidence. Even if I don’t know what the hell to make of it.

Because this desire, these feelings… they’re the opposite of everything I’ve said I want. No attachments, right? That’s how I avoid a repeat of my failed marriage and all the pain that came as a result. But one look at Tess and I can’t help it. Regardless of the red flags waving in my mind, I want to see this through.

She does, too, even if she won’t admit it. She may be scowling, but I’ve been trained to read every impulse. Every hint that someone is faltering. And in that millisecond after I opened my door, before her walls could go up, I saw it. Just as I felt it.

Relief.

“Hello? Earth to Kit.” She jabs a pointed nail into my chest. “Did you hear what I said? You have to leave.”

“Sorry, the jet lag must have affected my hearing,” I say, dramatically digging a knuckle into my right ear canal. “Could you repeat it one more time?”

I’m goading her, and I know it. But a part of me can’t resist. The part that loves how she looks all hot and bothered. Emphasis on bothered. She narrows her eyes, not honoring me with a response. I rest a hip against the doorframe, a sly grin stretching my lips north even as hers curve due south. At least if she’s irritated, she can’t be whatever it is that I keep catching glimpses of when she forgets she’s putting on a performance. Scared? Hurting? Two things I don’t know how to fix.

But an angry woman is my specialty.

“I know you heard me,” she says flatly.

Okay, so she’s not in the mood for banter. “You do recall that you’re the one who invited me in the first place, right?”

Her arms cross. I doubt she knows it pushes her cleavage into view. I drag my gaze from her chest back to her face, which is painted red with agitation. She huffs a breath, and it’s a bit like watching a golden retriever prepare to fight. She’s cute when she’s mad, and although I’m sure shecouldkill me, I also know that she won’t.

“I’m sorry, regardless of how much of a cocky bastard you are, there is no way you thought that showing up without a single text or call ahead of time would be receivedwarmly,” she bites out.

Point made. “I certainly didn’t think it’d be received this poorly, either.”

Her arms fly wide, then slap against her hips. “You have to go, Kit. You can’t be here.”

“Why not? Is your boyfriend on his way?” It’s a cheap, immature shot. One I’ll be cringing over later. But it’s out now. No reeling it back in. Best to just own it.

She deflates into herself, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. “No. I just… can’t do this. Not here. Not with you.”

Sadness coats her words. Never mind I don’t know whatthisis; I desperately want to find out just so I can take that feeling away from her. It’s dangerous territory, a landscape I recognize only after I’ve blown past the warning sign. The last time I cared this much about a woman’s feelings, I’m the one who ended up broken.

I stand up straight and measure the space between us with an upturned palm. “Clearly we get along. What’s so bad about spending this vacation with me? Or, worst-case scenario, on the same property as me. Surely you can avoid me if you want to that badly.”

Please don’t want to.

We’re standing so close I could reach out and brush the stray wave from her face. She’s wearing a flowy white tank top, and I can see that she’s covered in goose bumps despite the heat. She hides so much of what she’s feeling behind her facades. First the vivaciousness in Colorado, and now frantic irritation. I’m so tempted to touch her. To read her thoughts like they’re written in Braille on her flushed skin. I curl my fingers into a fist, knowing better than to give in to that particular inclination.

“Not possible,” comes out in a pained whisper. She punctuates it with a wince.

Something like hope springs up in my chest. Perhaps staying away is as hard for her as it is for me. “And why not?”

She stares at me for so long I’m afraid she may never answer. Finally, with a heavy sigh, she jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Because that’s my room.”

My gaze lands on the golden plaque mounted next to the door perpendicular to mine.The Marilyn Suite.I noticed it last night. Briefly considered how much better the view must be, with mine facing the pool deck and that one seemingly angled toward the ocean. Then I promptly forgot about it as I downed five beers and tried to imagine how this reunion would go.

Safe to say, this wasn’t one of my favored scenarios. Cocky as I am, I do have enough self-awareness to feel a stab of guilt that I’ve invaded her space this thoroughly. “Shit. I’m sorry, Tess.”

She softens at the sound of her name. Almost imperceptibly, if I weren’t already so attuned to her body language. Her shoulders slump. Cheekbones lose their tension. She sucks in her plump bottom lip and bites down, sending stars across my vision.

“I can ask to be moved? I’m sure they have other rooms open.” The place hasn’t seemed that busy. I remember her mentioning school gets out in a few weeks, so I imagine the crowds really ramp up then.

She shakes her head softly. I want to be the hair dusting her shoulders. A ridiculous thought, but I feel it in my very core.

What the hell is this woman doing to me?

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