Thanks to those who reviewed and/or read the previous chapter! Much appreciated :)
A shiver rushed up Steph's spine as Paul strode out the wide open barn doors. She'd been planning to avoid him—drop in, celebrate the sudden and unexpected marriage of her best friend to her brother, fly out tomorrow night. Avoid scandal at all costs. But Paul's hot eyes? That knowing grin? How could she say no? Biting her lip, she turned to her best friend. "It's my wedding, and I say you should go after him," the bride ordered with a smile, adjusting her veil.
Stephanie swallowed. "Stace, that might be a mistake."
Stacey arched a dark brow. "Better loved and lost, they say." Those were dangerous thoughts, and last time she'd explored them, she'd ended up alone in London.
"This can't happen, Stephanie."
Two years later and the memory of his words still caused an ache in her chest, a knot in the pit of her stomach. She followed Paul out the back of the barn and toward the creek. She caught sight of him just as his broad shoulders disappeared over the hill. When she reached the crest, Paul was sitting on the creek bank. His dress shirt pulled across his shoulders as he rested his thick forearms on his knees and stared into the rushing water. Quietly, she made her way to his side and lowered herself beside him. She stretched out her bare legs, and the clay earth, cool in contrast to the hot, humid air, sent a chill through her.
"Welcome home," Paul said, not looking at her.
"Don't tell me it's good to have me back," she said. "Not if you don't mean it."
Paul turned to her. His eyes were hot and something like anguish painted his features. "I don't know if it's good or not." He looked away and focused on the water as if looking at her was too difficult. "So, Stacey and Sean. Crazy, huh?"
Steph frowned and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "A whirlwind romance, I guess."
"Yeah." He nodded. "Good for them."
Since he wouldn't look at her, she studied his profile. He scratched at the stubble of his short beard. Paul was masculinity personified, the kind of rough and-tumble sexy that made a girl's ovaries take up pole dancing and aerobic striptease classes. In London, the men were sexy in their own right but Steph had missed the males from home—especially the one that hung around her older brothers and worked with her daddy's racehorses and muscle cars.
She tucked an errant lock behind her ear and wished for a hair tie. She'd missed the heaviness of the air, the way it made her feel grounded, part of the earth. "Thanks for taking care of the 'Vette while I was gone," she said, thinking, safe topics only.
She shouldn't have followed him out here. She'd come home with a simple goal of avoiding scandal and slipping away before Paul could ask questions. How did she think a private chat by the water would get her there?
Paul looked at her, brow raised. "I thought you'd have preferred if I torched the thing."
She swallowed hard. The car had been a high school graduation gift from her father. Everyone in town had smiled and commented on how it matched her personality. She'd hated it. What the hell did she need with a hot pink Corvette?
"You always did understand me better than anyone else."
"Maybe no one else understood you because you ran off to London before they had a chance." She winced.
"When are you leaving?" The question took her by surprise.
His voice was gruff, like each syllable had been dragged through the gravel at the bottom of the rocky creek bed and then resurfaced, desperate for air. The sound made something ragged break loose in her chest, reminding her she couldn't keep living her life the way she had been, running from everything and never to anything, wandering through life while her heart stayed in Connecticut. She looked at her hands, realized she'd been wringing them in her lap.
"I go back to London tomorrow night. Got a lot of clients to handle." she said, stamping down the dread that rose when she thought of the dullness and meaningless of her life in London.
Paul kept his eyes on the creek and gave a sharp nod. "Sounds like you've gotten everything you ever wanted."
'Not everything.' "Right."
He speared his fingers into his thick, tousled dirty-blonde hair. "The way you left..." She bit her lip. "Real shitty," he said, "leaving like that." She nodded. "That night" —he swallowed hard as if the words were a large dose of bitter medicine— "I had no idea you'd be gone the next day."
'Me either.' "It's complicated," she whispered.
His jaw worked for a moment, like he was testing out words and tossing them out as unsatisfactory. "You could have told me." And have him talk her out of it?
"I'm sorry if I hurt you." A breeze blew off the water and she hugged herself against the chill, rubbing her arms. She was stupid to follow him out here. Stupid to think he would understand she had once needed him, more than anyone, to accept her when she'd offered herself. Even—especially—if she'd only been offering one night.
She pushed herself off the ground and turned toward the party. She had taken two steps when his hand on her wrist stopped her. His hot, work-roughened fingers skimmed over her skin as they traced a path to her shoulder. Her breath caught as he turned her. He cupped her chin in his hands and lowered his head until his mouth waited inches above hers. He froze above her for a moment. Their eyes locked as their breath mingled. She tried to read him, see the thoughts he hid behind eyes the colour of dark chocolate. Then his gaze dropped to her lips and she stopped breathing.
"Goodbye, Paul," she said, but he didn't release her and she didn't try to move.
"You do know the word," he said softly, but then his lips were on hers.
One hand slid into her hair and the other pulled her body against the solid plains of his chest. Instinctively, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt as she opened under him. She rubbed her tongue against his, tasted him and waves of pleasure and lust—and something bigger, scarier— she did not want to go there especially with the her flight tomorrow looming. After 2 years of being away from him, she was not going to be the one to break the kiss. Not her. He was the one to break the kiss. She wouldn't have. She would have kissed him all night and would have let him take her, body and soul, right there. Then she would have hated herself for her impulsiveness, and Paul would suffer the consequences.
He broke the kiss and pulled back, shaking his head and breathing hard. She grabbed his tie, tugged him closer before the heat of his body could leave hers.
"I…" She struggled to steady her breathing, to find words when there were none. She released him and took a step back. "Nothing's really changed, though, has it?"
As the questioned lingered in the atmosphere, he did not answer and she walked away...
