“Yes, I do.”
I see no subterfuge lurking in his face. No evasion.
I don’t understand any of this, but I’m unable to hide the words I’ve held back for so long. “I love you too, Mason.”
“I know you do,” he says. Matter-of-fact, like it’s not even a question.
“If you love me and I love you, then why?” Somewhere in this convoluted conversation is the root of the problem, and maybe if I understand, I can fix it.
The first stirrings of hope have me sitting forward, leaning toward him.
He puts his hands on my biceps, stopping my progression. “Because loving you comes with an unanticipated consequence, kind of a catch-22, so to speak.”
“I don’t understand.” I can fix whatever he needs me to fix as long as I can be with him. This doesn’t make me feminist of the year, obviously, but I don’t care. I can’t help how I feel.
His lips curve into a heartbreaking, soul-wrenching smile. “I really tried. I swear. But it’s much harder than I thought it would be, especially with you. Last night made me realize I can’t hold back any longer. It’s not fair to keep such a big part of myself a secret from you. I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
A secret?If not another woman, then what? “What are you hiding?”
“Come here,” he says, making room for me on the floor. I’m glued to the fainting couch, motionless, afraid I’ll crumple without the support.
He shakes his head as though clearing it. “Please, come here.”
“Why?”
He sighs—a deep, mournful sound that clutches in my chest and makes me ache. “I’d like to kiss you before you look at me totally differently. Can I do that?”
He wants to kiss me? Now? When he’s breaking up with me? I search his expression, trying to catch a glimpse of his secrets. But all I see is warmth. Mason. The man I love who miraculously loves me in return.
I steel my spine. This one kiss is my chance to keep him, to prove we belong together. I move to the floor and onto my knees, looking at him expectantly.
Relief softens the corners of his mouth, and he reaches for me. His hands slide up my back, curling around my neck. He stares deep into my eyes, as though he’s searching for answers. “I want something from you, but you can say no. Okay?”
“Okay.” I wet my suddenly dry lips.
He smiles, his grip tightening on my neck. “Can I kiss you the way I want to?”
The question confuses me. “You haven’t been kissing me the way you want to?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“You didn’t like it? All the times before?”All the slow, burning kisses we’ve shared weren’t what he wanted?
“Of course I did. I loved them… It’s just…” He traces a path over my jaw. “Hard to explain.”
His touch is so soft and gentle, it hypnotizes me. “Then what?”
“Say I can kiss you the way I want and maybe you’ll understand.”
I have no idea what this mysterious kiss might reveal, but I will not deny him. “Yes, please.”
A soft groan, and then his mouth is on mine.
And in that second, I know he’s right.
This isn’t like any kiss we’ve ever shared, and itishard to explain.
There’s no brushing of soft, coaxing lips over mine, no teasing with the tip of his tongue, waiting for me to open—none of the slow, methodical patience I’ve come to expect.