“A small town.”

She swallowed. “Yes. I suppose that was part of it. Gleann’s so different from where I came from in Iowa, but it was still sheltered. The whole idea was to not become my mom, and to do that I had to go bigger. I had to move up and away.”

He stretched his arms over the back of the chair, pressed his head into the cushion, and stared up at the ceiling beams. “I wish you’d told me that back then. I wish you would’ve just said, ‘Leith, I have a shitty mom and a shitty home and I have to get as far away from that as possible.’”

“But it was still too close to me then. I didn’t want anyone in Gleann to find out. The whole point was to pretend I was someone else and then literally become another person. Someone stronger.”

He pulled his head off the cushion. “You are stronger. I can see it. So can everyone else.”

And he hated himself for being selfish, for wanting her to stay with him all those years ago when she otherwise would have missed the opportunity to become this incredible, giving, talented person. To evolve.

I really did love you, he wanted to tell her. And I can see myself doing it all over again.

“I really did love you.”

The words cut through the growing noise in the lounge. It took several shakes of his head for him to realize that it was Jen who’d said them. It was Jen who had somehow heard his thoughts and repeated them back, simply because he’d wanted her to.

She was smiling and moving to the very edge of her chair cushion. Knees pressed together, legs angled to the side, she leaned over the table, closer to him. There was such aching beauty to her. It made every place she was in feel smaller, with her perpetually in the center.

“In my young, inexperienced way,” she said, extremely matter-of-factly, “I loved you. You probably don’t want to hear that now, do you? You didn’t want to hear it back then, and I didn’t blame you.”

His turn to scoot to the edge of the chair, only his legs bracketed the small table as he pressed his elbows to his thighs and leaned in. Their whiskey glasses now stared up at them from where they touched on the table. Hers was empty; his was not.

“I do want to hear it,” he said. “Thank you.” He was very glad she didn’t say you’re welcome. That politeness might have undone him. There was a sharp-edged need for her corkscrewing its way through his body. Hearing those two courteous words, on top of knowing what she’d gone through and that her feelings for him had once been real, and layered over what had nearly happened the other night . . . he was like a grenade, all primed and ready to go and just waiting for someone to pull out his pin. Waiting for her.

It was more than desire, more than sex. He had to make that clear to her, because he didn’t think he could be with her naked if there wasn’t going to be more when they were clothed. She needed to know how he felt and what he wanted. And what he wanted exactly, he just now realized.

“After you left,” he said, touching his fingertips together, “I had a string of really awful relationships, most never longer than a few months.” Carefully he watched her face, the way her jaw tightened and her eyelashes twitched in a barely discernible blink. “At the time I didn’t realize what I was doing, but I’m pretty sure I was purposely choosing the wrong girls. Deep down I knew that those things would never last, because none of them would ever compare to you.”

The last time he’d said something similar, Jen had sprinted in the opposite direction. But that corkscrew was turning tighter and tighter, and the pressure inside him was ready to burst. He had to get this all out, had to ease the weight bearing down on him.

Her shoulders dropped, the deep V-neck of her dress tightening across her chest, making him hard. He ignored it. He needed more than that. He needed her.

“Now that I’ve seen you again, now that I know our chemistry wasn’t faked, I know we can be good together again, Jen. Hell, we could be fucking fantastic. I’m pretty sure, all those years ago when I was picking the wrong women, my mind was holding out hope that you’d come back. It knew something I didn’t. Go figure.”

“Leith—”

He didn’t want to hear any protests, didn’t want her going through any of those lists she loved so much in her mind. Not yet. “Just hear me out, okay?” She nodded, and he began to tick off reasons on his fingers. “We can laugh about anything without embarrassment. We respect each other. We know each other’s past. We talk incredibly easily. I want to tell you things, Jen. So, so many things. We are both smart and business-minded, and we each have drive and dreams.” Honesty ran through his blood and bones and muscles, the most powerful of which was his tongue and lips. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

“And look at you”—he waved a hand at her—“you drive me goddamn insane, you’re so beautiful. Ah, fuck it, Jen; I’m just going to say it. I want to be with you. I want to try to make it work again. You’re in New York. I’ll be in Connecticut. I want to try, Jen. I have to try. I have to have you.”

And there it was. He’d done it again. He may as well have slit open his chest, carved out his heart, and slapped it on the table between the whiskey glasses.

The longest pause in the world followed, and he had no idea how to fill it. When she slowly rose to her feet, the smooth fabric of her dress pulling snugly around her legs, he had an awful, sickly vision of her leaving again.

Then her eyes turned to green flame, like something magical, and the corners of her delicious mouth ticked up, and he did a mental fist pump.

“I know that look,” he murmured, catching her infectious smile and finally allowing himself to feel the pound of blood in his erection. Let himself ride the desire without reins.

“Oh, you do, do you?” The lounge had gotten loud, but somehow he still heard her.

He slid all the way back in the chair and lifted his face to hers. “I do. You’re going to kiss me.” He glanced down at his lap. “And you’re going to come over here to do it.” 

Chapter

15

His statement pulled Jen toward him with a tender insistence. Her gaze dropped to his lap, where he was sporting a mighty proud hard-on. “I am?” she asked.

“Yes. You’re going to kiss the hell out of me, and I can’t fucking wait.”

He wore the barest hint of a smile, but it was full of cocky assurance. And his eyes . . . oh, man, his eyes. Sparkling circles the color of their drinks, hard and penetrating, bored into her. She hated being told what to do, but he knew—he knew—that for him she was putty.

Their gazes connected and held, tightening an invisible chain between them that not even his giant-ass truck could drive through. He licked his lips. Flashback to that tongue working her nipples and trailing down her belly. Flashback to the shivers he’d drawn on her skin before Olsen had shown up.

A hot burst of desire radiated out from between her legs, knocking her knees out, making her instantly wet. The delicate friction of her thong rubbed in such a powerful way that it seemed impossible to hide, like she was broadcasting her desire to everyone in the lounge. She let herself peek around. The two of them were tucked into an intimate corner. No one was watching. No one cared. Except Leith.

He settled deeper into the armchair, pressing his shoulders against the leather and widening his legs.

“Get on,” he said with a grin.

“You’re so crude.”

“No. I’m honest.”

She loved that honesty. Always had. As she stepped between his legs, she wanted to lick the knowing look off his face. Placing her hands on his armrests and letting her hair swing forward, just shy of brushing his cheeks, she slid one knee between his hip and the soft leather. Without breaking their mutual stare, his hand dropped off the armrest and his fingers curled around the back of her leg. The jersey of her favorite dress, the one that fit her just right, bunched in his palm. There was possession in that grip. Possession and need. Pressing one hand on his shoulder, his muscles tense and warm under his shirt, she slid her other knee around his opposite hip.