7. Evgeny #4
Her breathy moan nearly shatters my resolve, but when she brings her hands lower and starts to tug my shirt up, it shatters the illusion I’ve let myself draw dangerously close to.
She doesn’t know me, has no idea who I am, and she never can.
For her safety and that of my family, she and I can never be more than this one moment.
She’ll move on, just something she’ll eventually decide was a mistake, a lapse in judgement that she’ll soon forget about, but it will haunt me for the rest of my life, because this wasn’t nothing for me.
It was the first time I let someone in, the first time I ever let myself kiss someone, touch someone in an intimate way, and it’s not something I can detach from.
Even now, even knowing all that, I lack the strength to push her away.
It’s the thought of my family, of the danger she poses to them if she ever found out who they are that has me pulling back and shaking my head.
My voice is raw, and I’m unable to meet her blue eyes when I say, “I’m sorry. We can’t do this.”
“What? What do you mean?”
The confusion and hurt in her voice is worse than if she’d yelled at me in anger.
With more willpower than I knew I possessed, I allow myself exactly three more seconds of feeling her body pressed so perfectly against mine before I grab her hips and lift her off me, setting her back on the ground.
I take a step back, knowing if I don’t, then I’ll be picking her back up again.
“I don’t understand,” she says, brushing back her hair and then putting her hands on her hips. “What happened? What changed your mind?”
I drag a hand through my hair, trying like hell to stay strong.
“Nothing good can come of this, Harper. You just got a promotion,” I say, trying to throw some much-needed common sense our way.
“You think he’s going to like hearing you’re fucking the guy who’s going to be a big part of whatever future articles you write?
You think people won’t have a few things to say about that? ”
“We don’t have to tell anyone,” she says, but I can hear the hesitancy in her tone, the soft waver that lets me know reality is starting to sink in and make her see things as they are, not as we wish them to be.
“Is that really how you want to live your life?” I finally meet her eyes and then gesture towards the very large, very empty home around us. “It’s not easy hiding, always keeping yourself locked away, and always worried someone is going to start snooping around.”
She immediately clocks my words and tilts her head. “What are you hiding from?”
I let out a harsh laugh. “And that right there is the other reason this could never work. You would never stop trying to find a story in me.”
“That’s not true,” she starts to say, but I cut her off.
“It is and we both know it. I’m just saving us both a lot of trouble when whatever we started tonight ends very badly. I’m trying to spare you that, to spare us both that.”
“Why couldn’t you just have one night with me?” she asks. “You know I didn’t walk in here expecting a committed relationship, right? I didn’t even walk in here expecting sex, but most guys would’ve at least gotten one night out of it.”
“I guess I’m not most guys,” I tell her.
She’s quiet for a second, watching me until she starts to fidget. “At the risk of sounding incredibly pathetic, can you at least tell me if it’s something I did, like that you didn’t like or whatever?”
“Did it seem like I wasn’t enjoying myself?” I ask, surprised that she would think this is about anything lacking in her. The very idea is hard for me to comprehend.
“You did, and that’s why I’m so confused.”
I can tell I’ve hurt her, and that’s the last thing I ever want to do, so I tell her the truth, or at least as much truth as I can give her.
“I loved every second of it, Harper, and that’s the problem.
I wanted you.” I can’t help but meet her eyes when I say, “I still want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and that’s why it has to stop.
One night could never be enough for me when it comes to you, so we need to stop, because you and I are never going to get more than one night, and deep down you know it. ”
She starts to shake her head, to deny the obvious truth that’s standing right in front of us, but no matter how hard she tries to come off as a ruthless reporter, she’s incapable of such a blatant lie, so her head stills before her shoulders slump and she lets out a sigh that’s just as sad as I feel.
“Fine,” she says, that one word giving this moment the finality it needed, because I hear the resignation in it, the acceptance that what I said is right and that she agrees with it.
She looks back at her car to where Watson is still sleeping in the back, oblivious to everything that’s been going on.
“I should go. It’s late, and he needs his bed or he’ll be sore tomorrow. Thanks for supper, Ev.” She starts to turn to get into her car, and I have to put my hands in the pockets of my jeans or I’ll end up grabbing her and pulling her back into my arms.
“Goodnight, Harper,” I tell her, needing to say her name, and hoping she’ll meet my eyes once more.
She doesn’t. She just nods and gets in her car, waiting for me to open the carriage doors so she can get away from me as fast as possible. I don’t make her wait. I hit the button and then watch her drive away, wishing like hell it didn’t have to be this way.
I can’t bring myself to go to bed, so I grab a glass and a bottle of whiskey that I rarely drink and sit on the couch where Watson had just been sleeping.
The hours pass by slowly. I keep trying to convince myself I did what had to be done, but it still bothers me.
The last thing I’d wanted to do was push her away, and even though I really hadn’t had a choice, I still hate it, and it still makes me feel like shit.
When the sun rises, I groan and force myself to make a cup of coffee. I can’t go into the office tired and slightly drunk. The least I can do is sober up a bit. I force down two mugs and manage to scrounge up a protein bar to help soak up any remaining whiskey.
I’m just about to go upstairs and shower when I look out the window and see a burnt orange Jaguar turn onto my street.
My heart rate picks up, because I recognize the vehicle immediately, and there’s no reason he should ever be driving to my house.
I reach to check my phone before remembering I’d left my family cell in my bedroom earlier and never bothered to retrieve it because I’d been having an all-night pity party for myself.
I race downstairs and open the carriage doors so Val can drive into my garage, parking where Harper’s hatchback had just been. Panic has my feet rooted to the floor as he opens the door and steps out. One look at his distraught face has a million terrible scenarios crashing into me.
“Something really bad happened, Ev,” he says. “We need your help.”