“Callum, I. . .”
“You can’t play cricket because you were in an accident.”
“An accident I could’ve avoided if I’d made a more responsible choice.” Her face twists in disgust, condemning herself for what happened. “I should’ve stayed home.”
“Tots,” I cajole, hoping she hears me. But she’s too far gone. Her self-loathing spills past the edges of her quiet demeanor.
“It wasmyfault. Then I made one bad decision after another. Getting into that car was the first. Marrying Namik to escape facing the aftermath of my accident was another. I’m living with the consequences of what I did and I’m so. . . tired.”
Her agony sinks a dagger into my already weakening heart. Before I know it, I drop to my knees in front of her. Surprise flits across her face, but she remains silent.
“Listen to me. You’re not a failure.” She opens her mouth to argue but I silence her. “Your accident wasnotyour fault, no matterhow the media spun it. Same with your marriage. It takes two for a relationship to fall apart.”
I don’t know what she sees in me that prompts her, because she nearly knocks me on my ass when she confesses, “He cheated on me.”
That fucking cock-sucking piece of shit.
I knew I was right to hate him. I have no time to indulge in the rage that rushes through me because she looks shamefaced.
“Tots, you know cheaters are cowards, right? It was not your fault he cheated.”
“I know.”
Her tone is gentle but defeated. Like she thinks I’m placating her with words I don’t mean. Determination pulses through me and I stand. She startles when I place my hands on either side of her, caging her against the edge of the tabletop and my chest.
Her eyes widen and her head tilts back as I loom over her, using my size to ensure every speck of her attention is on me and what I’m saying.
“If you were my wife, I’d never look elsewhere. I’d be so fucking obsessed with you, you’d need to pry me off and, even then, I wouldn’t let go.”
Her pretty mouth parts in shock and her quick, shuddered intake of breath confirms she heard me and understands how serious I am. Flecks of amber swim in her eyes, her pupils dilating as she takes me in. Her gaze flickers, dropping to my mouth, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. When her lashes lift, I want to give in to the urge to close the distance between us. Surely, one kiss is permissible between friends.Just one kiss.
Like a helpless moth drawn to the brightest flame in a dark world, I lean forward. My palm grows heated as I get close to cupping her cheek. I almost feel her smooth skin when my watch buzzes, the red icon blinking to warn me of an increased heart rate. I halt, my hand hovering in midair, the spell broken.
Jesus H. Christ and all his disciples,I’m so fucking close to crossing the line Moore drew. One evening of tacos and tales and I nearly broke my promise.Shit. Shit. Shit!
Alia’s expectant gaze burns and I do the only thing I can think of to recover. I bypass her cheek and go all the way up to pat the top of her head. I ruffle her hair for good measure, like she’s a kid at the hockey camp I volunteer at each summer.
She blinks at the sudden shift in energy.
“Cal?”
I take a step back even though every cell in my body wants nothing more than to pin my lips to hers and have her sweet voice moan my name instead pitch up in a question.
“If you’re done, we should get going.”
“Oh.”
She looks confused and disappointed. I almost reach for her before catching myself. Goddammit, any more time with this woman and she’ll find herself bent over the picnic table and fucked ’til she’s forgotten all about her problems. Until her sadness is replaced with pleasure and her voice hoarse from crying for more instead of lamenting past mistakes.
“Yeah, we should go,” I repeat, feeling like an asshole of epic proportions. Her face flushes red and I know this time, it’s not because she’s shy.
I. Am. Scum.
As I drop her off at her apartment, I remain quiet, no longer sure of my ability to resist Alia. The easy camaraderie between us has vaporized and I’m too tightly wound to do anything else except maintain my grip on the wheel. It’s that or her hips.
“Thank you for the tacos, Cal. Good night.”
Alia takes off before I can so much as unbuckle my belt and walk her to her door. The walls that had lowered between us when she shared her fears have come right back up and I have only myself toblame. I watch as she practically runs away from me and realize, to my utter frustration, that I don’t have the right to run after her.