Constellations?
“No.” He rolled to his back, wanting to take her abrupt change of topic as a sign. They barely knew each other. It wasn’t as if there could be a future between them. Why bother getting into—
Screw it. “I was engaged once before.” Still was, if only in his head. “I don’t want to repeat my mistakes, Faith. That’s why I don’t get involved. Why I don’t date a woman for more than a night. Actually dating someone, even just for the summer, is a new experience, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Plus, he cared enough about Faith to not want to hurt her. It was a special talent of his, hurting people, and it seemed she’d already had enough of that in her short lifetime. He closed his eyes and drew in a lungful of air, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.
After a few moments, she took his cold hand in her warm one and squeezed. “I understand.”
His eyes flew open. “You understand?”
He sat up, but she remained inclined, her dark hair fanned around her head in the sand. Why didn’t she probe him for answers? Demand to know what happened to his fiancée? Christ. She was from another fucking planet. Even a stranger would want to know the gory details. People were like that by nature. Curious.
Faith didn’t follow the pattern on anything. It was as if she didn’t care or lacked the genetic makeup to connect.
“Yes, I understand. I’ve never been close to marriage, but if I had and it ended badly, then I would be hesitant to enter into a relationship again.” She moved to sit, but instead of facing him, she turned toward the water. “Commitment takes a lot of trust, and if that trust breaks, it’s hard to get it back, even with someone else.”
When he didn’t answer because he couldn’t, she turned her head his way. Weariness and acceptance looked back at him through amber eyes so soft he felt the shift all the way to his toes. For the zillionth time, she’d proven him wrong. Faith didn’t feel nothing. She felt everything. An empath of sorts, able to put herself in other’s shoes and feel their emotions.
No wonder she was afraid to live. He would be, too.
How had little Faith Armstrong, sheltered from the world and struggling in her own skin, manage to nail his feelings down as if she’d taken up residence in his head the past nine years? Yeah, she’d only gotten it half right, because she didn’t know the whole story, but damn it.
He swallowed the boulder in his throat. Guilt he understood, and it was running rampant in his gut.
“You’re angry again.”
He shook his head.
“It’s getting late. I should head back inside.” She stood and brushed the sand off her body.
He fisted his hands. “I wasn’t angry, but I am now.”
Her confused gaze darted to him and away. She crossed her arms and shifted her feet, her focus on the ocean. “I’m sorry.”
Anger went from simmering to boiling over. To give himself time, he stood and brushed the sand from his jeans. “Sorry,” he repeated, his head about to explode. She was always walking away from him, with her mantra of It’s getting late or I’m sorry or—damn the word all to hell—Oh.
But this time around she said nothing as she turned to leave.
“You really know how to bruise a guy’s ego, Faith.”
She turned. “I don’t understand, Alec. You’re angry. I’m leaving.”
“I’m angry because you’re leaving.” Well, hell. That came out wrong. “Could you stop walking away from me anytime I display a semblance of emotion?”
She pressed her palms over her eyes. “What am I supposed to do? To say? I don’t know how to fight.”
Her hands came down and a spark of anger shone in her eyes, rocking him back on his heels. This was the first time he’d seen her even close to mad. It was hot. Damn hot.
She sighed. “And I don’t know how to behave around you. Everything winds up making you upset.”
Shit. Was that how she saw it? That wasn’t his intention. “The only thing I want you to do or say or be is yourself, but with less leaving the second things start to get serious.”
Did he just say that? He rolled the words back through his mind and . . . yeah. He had. He’d just told her to stick around. What the fuck was happening to him? Sometimes talking to her was like trying to teach a two-year-old organic chemistry.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Couples fight.” Don’t they? “And just because I’m mad doesn’t mean it’s targeted at you.”
Besides, angry sex was hot. If they ever got to the sex part. He wanted to. Really, really badly. Yet this force she had around her—the one sucking him in willingly—should be holding him back from getting in too deep. Except it was having the opposite effect. Instead of getting hot and heavy between the sheets, they . . . talked.
She stared at him, on the precipice of running again, he could tell. To her credit, she didn’t. This time, she walked closer, until her breasts flattened against his chest and they were thigh to thigh. She smelled good enough to eat. That sugary signature scent that was solely hers rose up over the breeze as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
It was the first time she’d initiated contact. He liked it, the way she’d finally surrendered, so he dropped a kiss on her forehead.
“You always smell so good.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. “Like cupcakes and vanilla. It drives me crazy.”
“It must be my lotion.” Her voice quivered as he trailed his fingers down her throat. “Or body spray . . .”
Alec cut her off with a kiss, long and deep and languid. His hands drove into her hair and pulled the band out to run his fingers through the soft strands. The sweet scent intensified, as did his hard-on.
He pulled away and smiled at the drugged arousal he put in her eyes. It turned their color from amber to a deep golden brown. “I like looking at the front of you better than the rear. Not that you don’t have a great backside.” His hands drifted to cup her bottom to emphasize his point. “Please quit tucking tail and running. I’d rather be kissing you than thinking about doing it while I’m alone in my house.”
chapter
fifteen
Faith didn’t know what to make of it, but she and Alec had gotten into a comfortable routine the past week. She worked with Ginny during the day, while Alec slept back at his guesthouse. After dinner, he’d come over to her place. They’d talk or watch movies or read—like they were doing at this moment—with her reclined on the couch and her feet in his lap. After a few hours, Alec would take off for home and write most of the night while Faith slept.
They were like night and day. Oil and water. Yet this system worked. They . . . fit.
But aside from making out, Alec hadn’t made a move toward the bedroom. Every time things heated up and she was sure he would finally get her naked, a switch flipped and he backed off. It was disconcerting, to say the least. She wasn’t beautiful in any sense of the word—instead of sexy curves, her body had . . . edges—but she’d never considered herself unattractive. Alec had been in town a month, same as her, and he hadn’t been with anyone else that she was aware of. He had needs. So why wasn’t he sating them?
Faith had spent most of her life unsure of herself, and being with Alec—or not, in this case—was making her even more uncertain. She was sure he wanted her. His reactions were obvious. So, why didn’t he take them there?
Sighing, she tried to refocus on the book she was reading. It was the second book in Alec’s Hacked series. She’d read it twice before. The third and last book in the trilogy was the one they were attending the release party for in New York tomorrow night.