The mood lightens considerably, and I push at his chest. “Tell me something good.”
His thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “You make me want to be a better man.”
“Oh.” The words surprise me.
“Now you go.” His voice is soft, luring me in.
So I give him something, a confession. “You were right.”
“About what?”
My heart slams against my ribs. I know what I want to tell him, what’s pressing against my tongue and wanting to be revealed. I’m not used to admissions, though, and they have to fight to get free. “To stay.”
“Oh yeah?”
I nod, tiny and small. “You made me feel better.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
My lashes flutter to meet his navy eyes. “You know this will end in disaster.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“We shouldn’t do this. My brothers, they need you.”
“And what about you, Cat? Do you need me?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, but I’m starting to.”
I hold my breath, waiting. Because Caden has all the signs of a commitment-phobic man, and that’s the kind of statement that sends them into a panic, making them turn tail and run.
I should know. I’ve always had a weakness for that type. I blame my daddy, who ran off when I was young and never looked back. I recognize the trait and usually stay far away from those who exhibit it. While I might be weak, I’m not stupid.
The air is still, waiting right along with me as I search for that flash of panic, followed by retreat. I need to witness it, so this spell he’s cast on me can be broken once and for all.
His fingers tighten on the back of my neck.
He stares into my eyes.
His head tilts. “What am I going to do with you?”
I shrug. “Nothing, if that’s what you want.”
“It’s not what I want.” His gaze dips to my mouth. “I want you. Even though I shouldn’t.”
I don’t know what that means. It sounds noncommittal, or like an admission and condition rolled into one.
“Now what?” I ask.
His fingers fall away, leaving a cold spot on my neck where his palm was hot against my skin. He shifts, pointing at my mother’s grave. “Want to tell me about your mom?”
I shake my head. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“There must be something.”
I love my mom, but looking at her through adult eyes, I find myself intolerant of all her failings. Instead of romanticizing her as I’m supposed to when a loved one dies, I pick at her faults, rolling over in my mind how she failed us and how we suffered because of her poor life decisions. I don’t like that I think that, so I keep it to myself.
I divert, not interested in my past, but fascinated by his. I raise my knees under the fabric of my dress and wrap my arms around my shins. “What about you? You’ve officially met every member of my family, and I know nothing about yours.”