Chapter 3 #2
The quiver strengthens in my belly. I add in a lower voice, "We had our time. It was fun. But it was long ago. There's nothing left." I spin, take two steps, and he lunges at me.
He moves me against the wall, leaning over me, reeking of the scent that haunts me. His hand cups my cheek, rough, steady, and another reminder of all we were.
My breath hitches.
His words roll out of his mouth, dragging along my spine. "That's a lie, sugar." His gaze drifts to my lips.
My heart beats hard against my chest.
"Everything's still there. You just have to want it to be," he claims, his dark gaze challenging me once more.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
He flicks his thumb over my chin, and I shudder. He murmurs, "I don't remember Willow Cartwright being dishonest."
"I'm not."
He arches his eyebrows like he caught me in a lie. "No?" He hovers closer, his breath beating into my lips so hot, I feel it in my thighs.
I stay silent, my pulse out of control.
"I wasn't the man you needed. I know that. But I can be better," he declares, and I almost believe him.
Almost.
It's just another one of his cowboy promises wrapped in barbed-wire heat, I tell myself.
I take a deep breath, lift my chin, and drag my finger down his cheek.
He presses closer, his body singing against mine.
"Want to know a secret?" I murmur, dragging my gaze to his.
"What's that, sugar?" he mumbles, pushing my silk robe aside and grazing his fingers over my collarbone.
A shiver runs down my spine. I squeeze my thighs tighter and slide my hand through his hair, knocking off his cowboy hat. It drops to the floor with a thud. I grip his thick, wavy locks and tug his head back.
He groans, keeping his eyes on me, pushing his erection against my stomach.
I let my tongue graze his earlobe, purring, "The only liar in the room is you."
He freezes.
I release his hair and step to the side, but he steps with me.
He pins his elbows on the wall, cages his body against mine, and slouches so his darkened face is an inch above my mouth. His drawl is as slow as honey sliding down a blade. "Sugar, the only person I ever lied to was myself."
"Oh?" I barely get out, doing everything I can to not move an inch. If I do, my lips are going on his, and I'll regret it.
He lowers his head, quickly shifting my robe and dragging his tongue over the curve of my neck.
I inhale sharply.
A monsoon of sensations comes flooding back. His lips. His breath. His tongue. It's all the same but more potent. More experienced. More lethal.
I blink hard, trying to stay focused, demanding, "Tell me."
He kisses the side of my neck, moving dangerously close to my mouth, then stops.
My knees wobble. I grip his biceps.
He pins a stormy gaze on me, pauses, then announces, "The lie I told myself is that I could survive without you."
Tense silence explodes between us. Neither of us move.
Minutes feel like hours until he runs his finger over my lips, breathing long, deep breaths. He murmurs, "Do you know how many tortured hours I spent reliving the memory of your lips?"
I close my eyes. Wyatt was always a lot to handle. But now? With all the history between us? He's a pack of dynamite waiting to blow up my entire world.
His lips hit my ear. "Don't go. Stay and let me show you how much I've missed you."
I open my eyes, and all the hurt and rage come back with a vengeance. "Is that what you think I'll do? Slip into your bed and sneak out before the others wake up, just like before?"
His face hardens. "No."
I push at his chest, needing space, and shake my head. "This isn't happening, Wyatt. Not tonight or ever. Understand?"
He reaches for me, but I duck around him. "Willow—"
"No. Like I said, you don't know me anymore. And I learn from my mistakes. I won't make the same one again," I seethe.
Pain fills his expression, crushing me, but I'm not falling for his old tricks. He asks, "That's what you think we were? A mistake?"
I scoff. "What would you call us?"
He pins me under his brooding gaze so long, I shift on my feet. Then he says, "We weren't a mistake. The way I handled things was, but we weren't."
I huff. "The way you 'handled things'? You mean running off the minute the going got tough?"
His jaw tics. He glances at the ceiling.
"Ah. There it is. The Wyatt Houston special!" I taunt.
His face turns red. "What does that mean?"
I jab him in the chest. "It means, there's no point in discussing any of this. It's done and over. We're over. Leave it at that. There's no point in stomping on old dust." I unlock the door and swing it open.
"Willow!" he calls out.
I pop my head back through the door. "Merry Christmas, Wyatt. Let's not ever discuss this again. From now on, forget about the past."
A mask I remember too well overtakes his features. One he uses when he's hurting. But it's no longer my job to console him. He made his bed, and he can lie in it.
I bolt into my bedroom, lock the door, and slide into my bed. I bury my face into the pillow, crying. All night, I want to go back to his room.
But I don't do it.
That train has left, and it's not one I need to chase after.