Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, Vanessa woke with an emotional hangover.
She pulled the covers over her head and burrowed deeper, reluctant to face the day.
She hadn’t cried her eyes out all night, but she had tossed and turned for hours, second-guessing every word she’d said to Paul.
The health scare with her father had added to her feelings of vulnerability, and the threat of Bennett reappearing loomed in the background of her mind.
I never meant to hurt you.
She massaged her temples with a low groan.
She hated Paul for being so goddamned reasonable and appealing.
Who did he think he was, anyway? He thought he could come here and bare his soul to her, while looking tortured and achingly handsome, and she’d fall at his feet?
She had fallen at his feet, but only because she’d been too stunned to stand.
His tragic story didn’t excuse his deception. He’d killed a bad guy, his parents had died, and his brother was an asshole. He’d been shot while trying to save a woman and child. So what? This series of unfortunate events hadn’t made him a saint.
You’re the best time I’ve ever had.
Vanessa’s breath hitched in her throat, because he’d sounded so sincere. But how could she trust anything he said? He’d already ruined his credibility, and she’d been burned by men before. Bennett had lied to her for years. His entire persona had been a facade.
She couldn’t let another man make a fool of her.
Paul had deceived her to protect himself.
She understood the circumstances were different, but the betrayal felt the same.
He’d wormed his way into her life under false pretenses.
No one had forced him to make a connection with her and Emily.
He could have kept his distance from them.
After a token effort at being standoffish, he’d actively pursued her.
He’d claimed he wasn’t interested in a relationship, and then he’d spent an entire night in her bed. He’d treated her like a girlfriend.
She climbed out of bed and retrieved her phone from the nightstand.
It was only six in the morning. Emily was sleeping peacefully on the opposite side of the room.
She read a text from her father. He was feeling better and would be released later today.
Vanessa replied with a thumbs up, rubbing her tired eyes.
She took a lukewarm shower, donned a light summer dress and padded downstairs for breakfast. Jackson was still asleep, so she made coffee.
While she waited for the brew to percolate, she logged on to her laptop.
The battery was almost dead. She searched her bag for the charger, but she couldn’t find it.
In her rush to leave the cabin, she must have left it behind.
Vanessa cursed under her breath. The charger wasn’t the only item she’d forgotten. Her favorite bikini top was missing, and she’d left a load of laundry in the dryer.
Before she could rethink her actions, she scribbled a hasty note to Jackson.
If she hurried, she could go to the cabin and be back before Emily or Jackson woke up.
Her stomach fluttered in anticipation of seeing Paul again, even though she didn’t intend to speak to him.
The divorce with Bennett had hardened her.
She couldn’t trust men like she used to.
She couldn’t be soft and forgiving. She’d trusted Paul with her body, and she didn’t give second chances.
She’d warned him that she wouldn’t be with another liar.
He’d disregarded those boundaries in the pursuit of pleasure.
Memories of the specific pleasures he’d given washed over her as she finished getting ready.
She tried to convince herself it didn’t matter how much she’d enjoyed his touch.
He’d deceived her, and he was a cop. Those were both deal-breakers.
She applied a hint of makeup and combed the tangles from her hair.
She was vain enough to want Paul to eat his heart out, but too practical to get all dolled up.
You weren’t even that good.
Now who’s lying?
Vanessa had no complaints about his bedroom performance, but she’d been celibate for over a year.
She’d needed physical release. Sex with Paul had been amazing because of the long abstinence, not because of his technique.
It had nothing to do with their unique chemistry, or any deeper feelings between them. They were over, regardless.
After he left Lost Lake, he would disappear from her life forever.
He might go into hiding under a new alias and she’d never know what became of him.
The mystery of Paul McPherson would haunt her.
Every time she visited the lake she’d think of him.
He’d ruined her favorite sanctuary and that was unforgivable.
Squaring her shoulders, she drove the final mile to the lake. Paul’s truck was parked in his regular spot. Her heart ached at the sight but she vowed to stay strong. She didn’t need another emotional scene. She could gather her things and leave.
Vanessa parked in the free space and exited the vehicle. She could hear boat engines in the distance, along with raucous teenage laughter and the deep splashing of cliff-jumpers. Summer sounds. Fun sounds, both familiar and foreign. She could remember being that young, but not that wild or free.
She strode forward with her head high, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Paul didn’t come out to greet her. The door to Cabin 8 was open.
She hadn’t locked it yesterday. Before she entered the space, she paused to listen.
There was a fan blowing in the bedroom, and clothes tumbled around in the dryer.
Normal, familiar sounds.
She proceeded with caution. The cabin was empty, but she felt Paul’s presence like a ghost as she continued to the bedroom.
The sheets she’d never changed had been stripped from the bed, along with the pillowcases and blanket.
She wouldn’t be able to press her face to the fabric and smell his scent again.
The ceiling fan stirred the air in the deserted space, punctuating its emptiness.
Her laptop cord was in the nightstand, where she’d left it.
She tucked it into her bag and exited the room without a backward glance.
The clothes she’d forgotten were folded in a neat stack on the surface of the dryer. She reached out to touch the lacy panties on top of the pile. She imagined Paul’s callused hands on the fabric, his haunted eyes and the hard lines of his face.
Ridiculous.
Instead of dwelling on this pathetic fantasy, she grabbed the clothes and moved on to the kitchen. She collected a few pantry items, including the lemonade mix, though the sight of it made her eyes burn.
Ugh. This damned Texas heat.
Time to go. She strode outside with her arms full. Paul was standing beside his truck. He appeared to be packing up, like her. His gaze settled on her for a fraction of a second. Then he continued about his business, as if she wasn’t there.
She put her belongings in her car, trying to match his aloofness.
Unfortunately, she still had the key to the cabin.
She could leave it under the mat, or just be an adult and hand it to him.
He was ten steps away, looking long and lean in his denim jeans.
A faded T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.
His cowboy hat was pulled low on his forehead, partially obscuring his face.
She snatched the key from her purse and strode forward. He didn’t intimidate her. He never had. He was tall and fit and ruggedly handsome—big deal. He always smelled good, too. So what? She steeled herself for the one-two punch of his close proximity. He turned toward her as she approached.
“Here’s the key,” she said.
“I don’t need it.”
“I’m not coming back.”
“Neither am I.”
“You’re using the dryer, aren’t you? You can lock up.”
He sighed and held out his palm. She marveled at the irony of the exchange. After fighting tooth and nail over this summer rental, now they couldn’t wait to get rid of it. They were leaving it uninhabited during the peak season.
“Thanks for folding my laundry,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
“Was it?”
“Nope.”
The wry honesty of his statement cut through the tension between them. She imagined him folding her panties, hating her and wanting her the same way she hated and wanted him. Maybe even loving her, the way she loved him.
Vanessa froze at the disturbing thought.
She couldn’t actually love him, could she?
Suddenly, the man standing before her wasn’t the jerk who’d betrayed her.
He was the carpenter who’d built her daughter a lemonade stand.
He was the conscientious date who’d insisted on sobering her up before he took her to bed.
He was the generous lover who’d made her laugh and brought her to the throes of ecstasy.
Paul wasn’t perfect, and he hadn’t been honest with her, but he wasn’t Bennett.
The two men weren’t remotely alike. Paul had shown Emily more care and attention in the past two weeks than her biological father had in four years.
He’d had tears in his eyes when he’d hugged her goodbye.
For a man with the emotional range of an ice block, the moment had been telling.
He was clearly affected by their breakup.
Was he in love with her? This idea was even more alarming than the possibility that she was in love with him.
Vanessa tried to dismiss the notion before it could take root in her mind, or grow like wildfire inside her fast-beating heart.
She’d think about the possibility later, when she didn’t feel so vulnerable.
She’d savor it, along with the memory of his hands on her body.
The perfect sensation of his weight on top of her.