Bad Engagement (Billionaire's Club #10) - Elise Faber Page 0,33

trust takes time to build. But I also can’t prove that you mean something important and big and wonderful to me if you won’t let me in.” He slipped one arm around her waist. “Just crack the door, Red. Just the tiniest bit. Ride this wave with me. Let me in so I can show you.”

She dropped her forehead to his collarbone. “I’m scared.”

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

“But for how long?”

Forever.

That was what he wanted to say, to declare, to force her to believe.

But how could he say that? How could he possibly make her understand that when they were so new, when she’d clearly been so hurt?

When pushing her to open herself wide may expose those wounds to the air?

He couldn’t.

He just needed to keep practicing patience, to keep showing her that he was there, that he wasn’t like whoever had injured her heart, and hope that someday she would see that he was different and recognize he was worth the risk of dropping all of her barriers.

“Okay,” he said on a long slow breath. “I get it. I understand and I’m not going to keep pushing you to tell me something you’re not comfortable sharing.” He touched her cheek. “You don’t have to tell me who hurt you, but Red, can you just give me a chance? Can you just let us have some time to learn each other before you end us? We haven’t we even had a chance to begin.”

“Jaime,” she breathed.

“Please,” he said, aware that he was pushing, even though he promised he wouldn’t, that he was making his own crack in her barriers and shoving himself through.

Less patience than persistence.

But he couldn’t make himself stop.

The reason for that made itself clear when Kate and her kind soul gave generously again. The woman who’d cared about his pain in the car. The one who’d worried and texted in the night. The one who looked up at him gently and nodded, lifting her hand and pressing it against his cheek before she leaned close, brought her lips to his, and whispered, “okay.”

Then she kissed him.

Sweetly. Gently. Kindly.

Even when she was scared, she gave. Even terrified, she’d cracked the door to her heart.

She’d thrown a lifeline to a begging man.

There was no fucking way he was going to waste that.

He was going to make damn sure he gave back.

Fourteen

Kate

She lay in bed that night, hours after Jaime had left, hours after she’d eaten a delicious pumpkin muffin and he’d had an apple turnover.

Hours after she’d made a promise to herself to stop thinking about the inevitable end of her and Jaime and how she knew it would be more devastating to lose him than it had been to lose any other relationship. Hours after she’d decided to focus on enjoying the time they had left.

“Fuck,” she muttered, punching her pillow and tossing and turning in her bed.

Her very expensive, supposedly the world’s most comfortable pillow. Her pricey mattress. Her ridiculously overpriced linens that were cozy and fluffy and normally had her sleeping like a baby.

Well, like a baby that wasn’t little Lacy, up at all hours.

But instead she was awake, the fucking broken record of fear and end cycling through her mind.

Jaime had gone into his clinic about an hour after they’d eaten together, after cleaning the dishes and mugs, after putting his muscles to excellent work by digging a series of holes for the new plants she’d planned on purchasing later that day.

As a result, she continued to think of him the entire time she worked in the garden.

Hell, he never left her mind.

Not on the drive to the nursery, nor as she picked out plants and she wondered what type would be his favorite and if she got that extra flat of marigolds if she would be able to convince him to dig a few more holes.

She thought of him as she loosened the flowers from their pots, as she broke apart their roots and sprinkled in some plant food before tucking them carefully into the soil. She thought of his capable hands as she used her own hand to pat the dirt down, remembering how his had felt as they touched and stroked and caressed.

But when he’d called that night, she hadn’t picked up.

She’d let it go to voicemail then had listened to the short and sweet message he’d left, telling her he was thinking of her, that he missed her and for her to call him back anytime, and if not