Open Your Heart (Kings Grove #4) - Delancey Stewart Page 0,46
his weight.
I felt surrounded and protected in those long delicious moments on the couch in Cameron’s little house, as if my life had been narrowing in focus, funneling me slowly toward a single point. This. Here.
We explored one another, our clothing discarded in a pile on the floor beside us, and as we lay in each other’s arms, Cameron finally spoke, and the words were not what I’d expected to hear.
Chapter 11
CAMERON
God, I was weak. I’d just decided to keep my distance, and here I was, doing the exact opposite.
I lay with Harper in my arms on the couch in my living room and felt a disturbing blend of emotions welling up inside me. First was concern—there was a reason I didn’t get close to people, but telling Harper that seemed only to bring her nearer. And that was my fault, for not saying no. Beyond that? Guilt bubbled hot and sickening in my gut. What was I doing? I’d known this woman just over a week, and I’d let myself develop some teenaged infatuation. I was beyond this. I was—had been—a married man. Didn’t I owe to to my dead wife to at least ponder a new relationship more than a week? Didn’t I owe to it what we’d shared to avoid diving headfirst into anything else without really thinking about it? I felt sick and worried as I lay there, wishing I saw an easy way to undo what I’d just done.
“I’m sorry,” I told her, still physically unable to let her go. Her body was soft and warm, molded to mine in every way, matching me like a custom-cut joint with only one possible partner piece. Despite the feelings of self-hatred I was nursing, there were other feelings warring inside me, telling me to keep her close, not to let go of this warm comfort I’d found after years of cold solitude. But I knew I couldn’t.
She pulled her head up to look at me, confusion clear in her eyes, the wrinkle between her brows. “What?”
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I said, dropping her gaze but unable to release her from my arms, to give up her warmth yet. I’d hold her a few minutes longer, hang on to the way she felt nestled against me, tuck this feeling away and hope I could retrieve it later when the loneliness came back cold and icy. “This isn’t … I mean. This can’t happen again. I’m not …”
“You’re not what?” Her voice was more shrill. Was she getting angry? I wouldn’t blame her. God, I was an idiot.
“I can’t …”
She sat up then, her arms releasing me and her back straightening. She turned to face me as she sat on the edge of the couch. “Don’t you dare say this was a mistake. Don’t tell me it can’t happen again. Don’t become a cliché, Cam. Just spare me that much.”
But that was all true, except the mistake part. It was, maybe, but I’d never take it back. It was a delicious mistake I intended to remember for a long time. But not one I could repeat.
When I didn’t answer immediately, she went on, her voice deepening as she leaned toward me, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve wanted to do that from the moment I first met you,” she said. “I know it’s not cool for women to say things like that. I’m supposed to play the game, to be hard to get. But that’s not my style, and I don’t think it’s yours either. The fact is we’re attracted to one another, and lord knows we’ve got proximity on our side.” She waved a hand toward the house she was renting, just a few steps outside my front door. “We’re two consenting adults, so don’t you dare throw me lines about mistakes and regrets.”
She stood and pulled her panties back on, completely unaware that her defense of what we’d done, her complete dismissal of my self-loathing, and the way her body moved as she dressed herself had me wavering on the edge of doing it all over again. She pointed a finger at me. “I’m going to go back up to that big empty house now,” she said. “And I’m going to spend the day remembering exactly how fucking much I wanted this, so don’t you dare tell me that you’ll be down here regretting it. And I’ll tell you something else,” she continued. “I’ll be up there wondering when we might do it again. I’ll be