Page 46 of Into These Eyes
“What else?” I ask. “What else happened that you’ve left out, that you haven’t told me because you think it’s better left unsaid?
“Jamie, you were intoxicated. I know what happened last night had nothing to do with who you really are.”
“Tell me.”
“You tried to kiss me, and I stopped you. You also recited a little poem about hating me.”
My eyes widen in horror. I’d forgotten all about that idiotic poem. He must see the shame written all over my face, because he takes a step toward me.
“Then you told me you don’t hate me anymore. I’m hoping that those words, at least, were true.”
I’m too shocked to say anything.
“I should go,” he sighs.
I nod, my focus dipping to the floor. I need time to process all this. I tried to kiss him? I recited that awful poem? And still, he’d stayed, made sure I didn’t choke, gave me painkillers and made breakfast. Why?
He grabs his phone from the counter and shoves it in his pocket as he walks around the breakfast bar toward the front door.
When he opens it, I find myself right behind him, grabbing his elbow. He freezes on the threshold.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“I don’t blame you. I can understand why you don’t want to help—”
“No,” I say, realising he’s taking my apology the wrong way. Tightening my grip on his arm, he finally turns and looks at me. “I’m sorry because I’m the one who embarrassedyou. My behaviour … God, I’m awful and I’m so sorry I dragged you into my crap, that you had to witness any of it.”
“It’s actually nice to know you’re not perfect.”
I blink at him in confusion. “You thought I was perfect?”
“I was beginning to.” I don’t miss the way his eyes fill with hope as he smiles. “So, you’ll still help me?”
“Of course. I just need some time to process my father’s death, to deal with everything that entails. I’ll call you, Gavin. I promise.”
His eyes flick to my grip on his arm, then back to my face. Just as I try to release him, he covers my hand with his and squeezes.
“Thank you,” he says before crossing the threshold and heading down the porch steps.
“Gavin?” I call after him. He turns and looks at me questioningly. I take in the brightness of his expression, the way the sun lights up those deep blue eyes and warms his skin. “I did tell you the truth. I don’t hate you anymore.”
Before he can react, I close the door, lean against it, and let out a long breath. Then I cover my face with my hands and groan.Jesus. That poor guy. He must wonder what the hell he’s struck.One minute I’m giving him great news, the next I’m crying in his arms. Then he brings me home because I’m embarrassingly drunk and I reward him by giving him a love bite and trying to kiss him. And let’s not forget about reciting that hate-poem.
Have I missed anything?
Fuck.
I really am a total mess. And he was worried I’d never want to seehimagain? He’s the one who should be running for the hills, getting as far away from the crazy lady as possible.
Hurrying over to the couch, I flop down face first and let another groan of humiliation. When I try to force the memories of last night into my stupid, damaged brain, they refuse to surface.
Instead, I’m forced to imagine myself standing before him in the bathroom as he dragged down my underwear. He’s right. Wearing a dress meant he didn’t have to see anything, and I believe him when he said he didn’t. Closing my eyes, I can almost feel his fingers on my thighs, skating upward, searching for the lace. God, I wish I could remember how that felt, how he looked when he touched me. I want to know if he liked my skin, if it turned him on when he slid my panties down.
Scrambling to sit up, I realise it’s me who’s turned on by the mere thought of him doing that.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me?
Needing a distraction, I grab the remote and click on the TV. Gavin Lake’s presence in my home had filled up all the empty spaces, and now it’s far too quiet.
