He sat close to me, fuming, his frustration coming off him in waves, but he didn’t back away.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” I swallowed, wishing I could think of something better to say. “I was only thinking of my career, and . . . it was just business, at first. I’m sorry.”
He stiffened next to me when I said “just business.” Even being seen with me was going to hurt his business. How could I be the one to stand by and watch his reputation get destroyed? Wes could help so many people, and he was such a good man, and this business was all he had. His eyes dropped away from my face, and I knew—I just knew—he was thinking the same thing. I should say it first.
“I don’t think . . .” My voice was soft, as if the tears I wanted to shed were seeping into my speech. “I don’t think we should keep seeing each other.”
“That’s what you want?”
No. I swallowed my doubt, the anxiety coiling in my stomach. “It’s the right thing for both of us, isn’t it? We both held back the truth, and we both stand to lose a lot.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked, and he stared straight ahead, not meeting my gaze. His voice was flat when he said, “Okay.”
I had no idea if his intonation meant he was mad or frustrated or relieved. The energy between us felt sharp and difficult, and I drew in a shaky breath. “It’s probably for the best. I’ll just . . .” I glanced around his living room, a space I’d been so comfortable in twenty-four hours prior, but there was nothing for me to grab. I stood on unsteady legs and wiped at my eyes. “I’ll go.”
Wes didn’t answer but dropped his head, his fingertips pressed against his temples.
My stomach clenched. Wes sitting there like that, not saying anything, was explanation enough of how much I’d screwed up this entire situation. I pressed my lips together to hold back a fresh wave of tears and stepped toward the door. I knew once I left, I’d have really walked out the door on any future with him. I inhaled the clean scent of his place.
Wes’s hands wrapped around my shoulders and gently turned me so we stood facing each other. “Wait.” His voice cut through the silence, and he dragged a finger along my jawline. His touch sent a rush through me so powerful, I closed my eyes trying to block out the sensation. “Not like this.”
My voice was breathy from both his touch and the tumultuous emotions coursing through me. “It’s for the best.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice low. “But not yet. Not like this. Don’t walk out the door yet, please.”
It was the “please” that got me, the rawness in his voice. When I returned his gaze, we were only inches apart, and the heat from his body surrounded me. I leaned into his hand, knowing this might be the last time he looked at me like that, the last time anyone looked at me quite like that.
“I just . . .” He searched my face, and his fingers trailed down my neck and over my shoulders while I clutched his shirt. “Not like this.”
My eyelids fell closed and I breathed him in. “Wes,” I sighed as his hands finished their path down my arm, then inched up from my waist in a way that was already so familiar and warm. When he kept touching me like that, the world would fade away and all that would be left would be me and him. “We shouldn’t.”
“I know we shouldn’t,” he echoed, dropping his lips to my neck. “I’m angry with you, and furious with myself, and I know you’re right, but please don’t make me let you go.” He waited until I lifted my arms to wrap his own around me, holding me tightly. “Not yet.”
“Wes,” I murmured as he kissed my neck and his palms cradled my face. I heard what he hadn’t said. He wanted that moment of the world fading away, and I did, too. “One last time,” I whispered, my lips near his ear.
Wes groaned against my neck, the vibrations sending chills through me. He pushed forward, laying me back on the couch. The pressure of his hips rolling into me sent nerve endings popping, and our eyes locked as they had so many times in the last weekend. I wanted his look to say No, we’re not ending this or I need you in my life. I wanted to convince him I’d never leave him feeling betrayed again, that what was between us was more important than our jobs. But he repeated my words, “One last time,” and I knew it was.
* * *
HE’D TAKEN ME in every sense of the word, and I’d taken him right back. We lay on the couch, drained. His arms around me, my face on his chest—it was like when we’d run together side by side. Except this time, I would leave, and I had to remind myself why it mattered. He deserved someone who would put him first, and I’d shown him that wasn’t me.