His face twists, and he rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to explain this.”
I’m finally getting somewhere. “Try.”
“Fine.” He rises from the chair and moves to the window, staring out at my tree-lined street. “Last night made me realize it’s not enough.”
It’s a quick uppercut to the ribs, and the air leaves my lungs with a whoosh.God, I’ve been such a fool.Humiliation washes hot over my skin. Here I’ve been mooning over fantastic sex, and he left my bed dissatisfied.
I’m not enough for him. The truth is the final nail in the coffin, breaking my heart. The last whisper of the demanding diva curls through the air before dissipating into the ether. I don’t think I can stomach any more answers.
I tuck my chin, casting my gaze downward to hide the welling in my eyes. I manage to eke out, “I’m sorry.”
He whips around. “No, Anna. Don’t do that. You’re great. Wonderful. You are everything a man wants in a woman. I’m the screwup here, not you.”
Oh. My. God. I’m gettingthespeech. I clench my hands and feel a tear trickle down my cheek. “Don’t even try that clichéd dating breakup garbage on me.”
He walks over, and my heart races a little, just like it always does.Why does he have to be so beautiful?
I want to beg him for another chance. The fact that this is pathetic keeps me silent.
He kneels, jeans stretching taut over powerful thighs. He takes my tightly clenched hands in his. “It’s not garbage. You’re the good one here.”
This is insufferable.
I let my hair fall across my cheeks, hiding my face. The words slip out before I can stop them. “Six months, and you won’t tell me the truth.”
A frustrated noise. A hard exhale. “I don’t know how to tell you the truth.” He strokes my hair, soft and gentle, like he still wants to touch me. “How to say the words.”
Then it hits me, like being whacked with a two-by-four. I get it. Everything makes perfect sense.
I stare down at the loose red-and-yellow flowered skirt I wore to school today. To put them both out of their misery, I speak for him. “You’ve met someone else.”
“Jesus, no,” he says so vehemently my head shoots up.
I’m surprised at his expression, no longer remote and unreadable. He looks anguished, sad, as defeated as I feel. If it hurts him this much, why is he doing this? Only another woman makes sense.
I pat his forearm, savoring the flex of muscles against my palm. “It’s okay. I understand.”
I don’t, but at least this horrible conversation can end.
“It’s not okay!Thatwould never be okay.” He trails a path over my jaw, and I get lost in the touch. I love the way his callused fingers make my skin tingle. Something about the sensation of rough meeting soft makes me melt.
Now he’ll never touch me again.
He stares into my eyes. “Do you really believe I’d do that?”
If not that, then what?I shrug. “No, but—”
“There’s no one else.” His gaze drops to my mouth as though he wants to kiss me. “I only want you.”
“Then why are you ending things?” I’m so confused. It’s not relief shadowing his features, it’s loss.
He sighs, and his hand drops away. He sits on his haunches and studies me for a long, long time. “You really want to know, even though you won’t like the answer?”
“Yes.” I’m not sure what the truth will bring, but I need to understand if I have any hope of moving on from this.
Something dark plays over his face, and his eyes flicker with what I think is indecision, but he finally gives me a firm nod. “All right then. Here’s the truth. I love you.”
I blink at him. That’s the last thing I expect to hear. “You love me?”