look at his face—his steely jaw, his dark eyes—I know something is wrong.
“Come in,” I say, and when I back-up to allow him to enter, he steps inside and shuts the door.
A moment later, he pulls me into his arms, and kisses me until my knees are weak, a dark kiss. A tormented kiss. I press my hand to his jaw. “I think you need a drink.”
“I need a lot of things right now,” he confesses, and for a man who’d thus far confessed very little to me, it feels like a breakthrough.
I catch his hand and lead him to the couch, and once he sits down, I head into the kitchen and pour him a drink, a specific whiskey I’ve come to know he enjoys. I don’t pour one for me. I’m just not a good enough drinker to drink and be a good listener.
I return to the living room to find his elbows on his knees, his head low. I sit next to him and when he offers me a dark stare, I offer him the glass. He accepts it, sips it, and sets it down, uninterested, it seems.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I’m trouble for you, Candace,” he says, holding that eye contact. “I’m trouble and I’m not a relationship guy.”
My heart thunders to a roar in my chest and my defense mechanisms kick in. My hands slide down my legs and I stand up. He’s on his feet in an instant and we face each other. My hand is trembling and I hate how obviously flustered I am. My heart is breaking, which is ridiculous. I’ve only known him for a month. But my voice is remarkably firm. “You didn’t have to come here to tell me you don’t want to see me again. I haven’t asked for a commitment.”
“And you shouldn’t,” he says, confusing me.
I blanch. “What?”
He steps into me, folds me close, his big, hard body overwhelming me in what I call all the right ways if that confusion I’m feeling wasn’t so damn ripe. “I had a shit day today,” he says. “Real shit. The kind I keep to myself. The kind I don’t want to bring into your life. And yet, I found myself on your doorstep. I found myself needing to be here with you.”
“You’re confusing me, Rick.”
He releases me and steps back, running a rough hand through his hair. “You just won’t let me go.”
“What? You came here to me. I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me.”
“I want you, Candace. I want you more than you possibly know. But I’m trying to protect you.”
“I can protect myself.”
“Really? My father’s a bastard who beats my mother. He’s drunk half the time and he’s unfit to operate, but he does. And I haven’t stopped him. That shit is my baggage. And tonight, I took over one of his surgeries. I forced him out and threatened to get him disbarred.” He scrubs his jaw and says, “I need to go.”
My heart leaps and I rush after him, reaching him just in time to plant myself between him and the door, my hand landing on his chest, where his heart thunders madly. “Why would you leave?”
“I told you. To protect you.”
I swallow hard and say, “So you're breaking up with me?”
“Yes,” he says, but there is a rasp in his voice.
“Okay. But you’re here now. You came here because you need me. And Rick,” my throat goes dry thinking of my mother being—gone forever. “I need you, too. So if it’s only tonight—”
He cups my face and says, “I can’t do one night with you. I’ve already proven that. It’s all or nothing.”
“And what do you want?”
“What do you want, Candace?”
I hesitate, but it’s one of those all-in questions that requires an all-in answer. “All. Without question.”
“And what if you can’t handle it all, Candace?”
“My mother once told me that the bravest thing you can do is to trust someone with your heart. Trust me. I trust you.”
“Do you?” he challenges.
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
His lips lower, lingering above mine, his breath a hot fan, his emotions a stormy eruption, seeping inside me. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. I want him to kiss me, but he doesn’t. He scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom. He turns on the light, leaving me no shelter in the darkness. And then he sets me down at the end of the mattress, him standing with his back to the foot of the bed. “Undress