He stroked his thumbs across her cheeks. “We’re not arguing about your soup here.”

“No. I guess we aren’t.”

Sighing, an aching sadness to him, he took one of his hands and braced it on the wall behind her. “So talk to me about something besides soup.”

Like all of her strings had been cut, she sagged, leaning back into the wall. It would be so easy to let her head fall forward onto his shoulder, to rest there for a moment. He was clearly ready to give her whatever comfort she wanted, but it wouldn’t fix anything. Him showing up here, making promises he’d given her no reason to believe up until this point—it didn’t solve anything.

“Rylan.” She placed her hand over his and pulled it gently from her cheek. “What are you doing here? Really.”

“I already told you. I came here for you.”

“But why?” And this wasn’t the same insecurity from their first night together, eating crepes in the open air on a Paris night. She had some kind of hold over him, there was no denying that at this point. But “Why here? Why now?”

He turned his hand over in hers, tangling their fingers together, and it felt too easy to let him do it. She squeezed his palm, stilling him. Because this was important.

When he spoke again, his voice pitched lower, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “It’s funny, you know. I was in Paris for a year before I met you, and the whole time, I was never lonely. I was too angry, too—” He cut himself off with a harsh breath of a laugh. “I felt too betrayed. I’d gone there running from this shitstorm my father had left for us, and I couldn’t see anything beyond that. Not even how unhappy I was. I knew my life was empty, but . . . it was like it almost seemed better that way.”

And she had seen that, hadn’t she? It’d been lurking in the corners of her vision, all that time they’d spent together shadowed by it. There’d been a restlessness to him, a dissatisfaction he never would’ve admitted to but which she could all but taste. How else did a man like him get so caught up in something the way he had? How else did he change all of his plans for an entire week, and for what? A girl?

She didn’t want to sell herself short, but it didn’t make any kind of sense.

“That still doesn’t explain—” she started.

“And then you walked into my life, and you were anything but empty. You cared so much about life and art, and you let me touch you . . .” He trailed off, gaze darting down the center of her body, leaving a low trail of warmth everywhere it went. “And I didn’t feel hollow for the first time in so long.”

“And so you lied.”

“And so I glossed over the details of my life. Because for that moment, that handful of days, I wanted to live in yours. By the time I realized how much I needed you—that I had to come clean with you . . . it was too late.” His mouth twisted up into a painful shadow of a smile. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I’d already fucked it up, so there was no way I could keep you, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be another guy who’d hurt you.”

Her eyes blurred. But she wasn’t going to let him see her shake. “You understand the irony of that statement, don’t you?”

“There is nothing I regret more than hurting you.”

“But you did.” There was no invective left to throw behind the words. They were simply there, true and awful and bare. “You broke my heart. Because I let myself think you were different. You only let me see these little glimmers of yourself—”

“I showed you more than I’ve ever shown anybody else.”

Dizziness swept over her, because he believed that. The way he was looking at her, a fierceness to his gaze, he had to.

“I know I showed you more, because it was more than I’d shown myself.” He took her hand in both of his. “After you left, I had to face it. There wasn’t any pretending anymore. I tried. God, I tried. But none of it was the same.”

“So what? You’ve just been wasting away without me these past few months?”

He shrugged, but he missed casual by a mile. “Essentially, yes.”

And that was it. The intensity of his gaze was too much. She suddenly couldn’t breathe, and she twisted, tugging her hand away and squirming out from under his arm.

“I’m just a girl,” she insisted, retreating. It was a couple of feet worth of distance, but it felt like the world.

“No.” His voice broke. “Don’t you get it? You’re the girl. The one who opened my eyes. Before you, Kate, I—” He turned, taking her place with his back to the wall. It seemed like it was the only thing keeping him up. “I was running. I wouldn’t let anyone get close to me. And you barreled right through that.” He lifted his head. “Two days ago, I took off my father’s ring.”

A shiver ran down her spine. Right. He’d pressed her hand to the center of his ribs until she’d felt that absence. The place where that band of gold used to be.

“I came here. To New York, to a board of directors meeting to save my father’s company, because I’m tired of acting like I don’t have any choices anymore. You made me want to take my life back again. To find some good in it.” His eyes went bright. “I’m tired of living in my father’s shadow. I want to be here. I want to fix things with my family. I want to fix things with you.”

Her lip quivered. “But what if you can’t?”

“Then I’ll die trying?”

She laughed, but it came out with a sniffle. “Melodramatic much?”

“Hardly.” He licked his lips. “Kate . . .” He trailed off, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out again. She took an unconscious step backward. And then another.

Her apartment was such a shoebox, it only took her a half dozen more for her knees to hit the edge of her bed, and she sat back against it heavily.

“This is crazy.” The thought finally made it past her lips. “You barely know me, you barely let me know you. We had just—what? A week together?”

“We were supposed to have seven nights.”

“And we didn’t even get that far.” How could they hope to get any farther? “And now you want to uproot your whole life because of me? It’s too much.”

“It’s barely the half of what you make me want.” Rough, he said, “What we had, it might not have lasted long, but it changed me. I think it changed you, too.”

It had. In so many ways.

“When you let me touch you, when you let me inside you, it meant something.” His words sent molten heat to the center of her. But the sex wasn’t the problem. Before she could open her mouth to protest, he swallowed, throat bobbing, eyes darkening. “I still think about it. All the time. How sweet you tasted, how it felt to put my hands on you . . .”

“Don’t.” She raised a hand as if that could stop him. Her insides trembled. God, it had been a long three months, with nothing to sate her. He’d started this fire within her from the barest kindling, and she’d had no way to put it out. Only the time to let it burn. Three words from him, and the smoldering embers of it threatened to consume her whole.

“I still have the toys we bought. I’d love to put them inside you again. Make you come over and over—”

It felt like a blow, the wave of need that threatened to knock her over. She shook her head even as she clenched her thighs.

“We had something. Something I’ve never had before, and I was a fool to let it go without a fight last time. Hell if I’m going to do it again. Isn’t it at least worth something? All I’m asking is for you to let us try. Let me try, to win you back, to earn your trust.”

And just like that, it all bubbled over. The anger and the hurt and the betrayal, and it was so mixed up with how much she had loved him, how much she still wanted him. How much she didn’t know if she could ever trust him again. “I don’t know you!”

She’d thought she had, but he’d hidden himself at every turn, and so everything he claimed they’d had was ash, scattering at the faintest wind. He’d been just like her father, just like Aaron, pretending to be one thing while deep down he was someone else. Just waiting to turn on her.