Page 19 of 40 and Flirting (with Disaster)
She tipped her face up to meet his eyes. “You know you’re not.” In fact, even with her initial tension, he guided her expertly around the floor, through the myriad of couples enjoying the slow music as well. She hadn’t done much slow dancing—Kirk had never been comfortable dancing with her, although she’d heard tales that he’d been the envy of all the other guys in his fraternity at college because girls flocked to him, being one of the few that would actually dance at the frat parties. Jamie didn’t feel uncomfortable or stiff; he felt warm, his heat seeping into her, relaxing her muscles, focusing her attention solely on him and the pleasure of being held by a partner who obviously relished having her in his arms.
If she’d thought resistance was futile before, now she knew for a fact, there was no resisting this man.
Jamie’s frown caught her attention. “What was that thought?”
She huffed a reluctant laugh. “You have to stop doing that.”
He leaned back, meeting her eyes more fully but also aligning their bellies in a way that had her feeling far too intimate in a crowded room. “Doing what?”
She cleared her throat. “Reading me.”
Jamie’s voice dropped into a deeper register. “I like reading you, Iris.”
“Jamie—”
He gathered her closer, tipped his head down so that his mouth brushed her ear. “It’s okay, Iris. There’s no obligation here, no commitment. Just two people enjoying their time together. Let those worries go.”
Her fingers tightened on his biceps without thought. “I can’t. I’m too—”
When she didn’t finish that sentence, he finished it for her. “Scared?”
“Yes!” The word was abrasive, a Brillo pad scraping across her vocal cords, but it had to be said. He needed to know.
“I understand. I remember that fear very well.”
Surprise jerked through her. “When were you afraid?”
It was an insolent question—everyone had personal fears. But men rarely admitted to them.
“After my own divorce.”
Now it was her turn to lean back, look up at him. “You were divorced?” He’d been single as long as she’d known him, though she was pretty certain she’d heard he had a son. She’d been so caught up in her own situation that she hadn’t given his as much thought as she probably should have. “I’m sorry.”
Jamie brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb starting that stroking thing he did anytime he touched her. “I appreciate that, but there’s nothing for you to feel sorry for.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant, but she let it go. She should let the whole thing go, but she couldn’t keep silent. “May I ask…what happened?”
His eyes got a distant look in them. “Brenda wasn’t ready to be a mother. When Michael came along…” He shrugged. “Let’s just say it was better for us to be on our own. I let her go.”
Had there been abuse? Was Michael okay? So many questions, and none of them should she ask.
He stroked her cheek again. “Look at that worry in your eyes. Don’t worry about us, Iris. We were okay. But having a son meant I had to be a lot more careful about any other relationship I allowed into my life.”
A much more valid fear than hers, some would say, although she didn’t think fears required validation. Everyone’s circumstances were individual to them.
“It’s normal to be afraid,” Jamie was saying. “It’s a normal part of life. What matters isn’t that you have them; it’s how you react that matters.”
Not letting those fears control you, he meant. And yet fear was a basic biological response to keep one safe. A warning to not do something that could result in harm. And letting herself get involved with this man could definitely harm her. If her husband of twenty-three years couldn’t love her enough to stay with her, how could a man like Jamie commit to a relationship with her?
That was it, wasn’t it? The kernel of her fear. That she was unlovable, unworthy. That risking her heart would never pay off because her ex-husband had been a douche bag. It wasn’t logical, but her heart was trying to keep her safe.
Maybe what she needed was just to be honest.
“Jamie…”
He chuckled.
“What?”
