Chapter 16
Fisher crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb of Eliza’s bedroom as she disappeared into the bathroom. When she came back out, wearing nothing but those flimsy silk pajamas, his dick instantly went from six PM to midnight.
That’s all it took now, apparently. Now that he knew what it was to hold her, to kiss her, to taste her skin on his lips and feel her heart thundering against the sweep of his tongue.
She crawled into bed and pulled the heavy covers up to her chin. He didn’t know whether he wanted to sigh with relief or cry in disappointment that all that lovely, pale skin was now covered up.
Her dark eyes were captivating in the low glow of her bedside lamp as she studied him.
“What?” he asked when she’d been quiet for too long.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a way of looking at a woman that’s intoxicating? You make me feel like my face is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.” He opened his mouth to respond and tell her that herface was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. But she beat him to the punch. “And I might be fool enough to believe that except I’ve known you long enough to know that look—” she pointed at him “—isn’t just for me.”
He frowned. “Ya make it sound like I find women interchangeable.”
“Don’t you?” she quickly parried.
“No.” He staunchly shook his head. “I know given my rather extensive datin’ history that that might seem the case. But just ’cause I don’t have long relationships that doesn’t mean the ones I do have are meaningless or transposable.” He frowned. “And surely ya don’t count yourself amongst even those, right? What you and I have is…”
He stopped as he searched for the word.
What was it that they had? Chemistry, certainly. Admiration and respect and comradery and all the shared experiences of having lived and worked together for four long years. But none of that was quite what he was looking for.
He finally settled on, “Different. We’re not two people who met at a bar. We live together. We work together. We’re friends and colleagues and…” He grew more animated as he tried to adequately explain why she should never compare herself to the other women in his life. “And we’re just different,” he insisted with a determined jerk of his chin.
She made a face. “I guess that’s something. Better than nothing.”
He pushed away from the doorjamb so he could place his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
It kept feeling like she was trying to tell him something. But either she was being vague, or he was dumber than a stump, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wrap his head around what she was alluding to.
“Nothing.” She waved him off with a shooing motion.
He debated the advisability of continuing the conversation, then decided to hell with it.
“It’s definitely somethin’. Earlier tonight ya said ya weren’t the kind of woman to be another notch on my bedpost. And now when I tell ya that what I feel for ya as my friend and colleague is different from what I feel for the other women in my life, ya hit me with that look”—he pointed at her face—“and make a comment about that bein’ better than nothin’.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he was on a roll. “So what does all that mean? ’Cause in my simple man-brain, I can’t help thinkin’ it means ya want somethin’ from me that ya think I’m not willin’ to give and?—”
It was her turn to cut him off. “It’s not that I want something from you. It’s that I…I…” She faltered before squaring her shoulders. “It’s that I know that in a different universe, I could maybe, perhaps, perchance contemplate the possibility of starting something with you. But since we’re in this universe, well…” She let the sentence dangle and punctuated it with a frustrated gesture.
And there it was. The truth he’d begun to suspect but hadn’t dared believe might actually be a possibility. If he’d been capable of it, the agile-minded, attractive, admirable Eliza Meadows would have considered him for a partnership. A relationship.
It was too preposterous to fathom. Which was why the next word out of his mouth was, “Why?”
She blinked uncomprehendingly. “Why what?”
“Why would ya ever maybe, perhaps, perchance contemplate the possibility of startin’ somethin’ with me in any universe? You’re educated and cultured and wealthy and beautiful. And I’m…” He threw exasperated hands in the air. “Me.”
Her mouth fell open as she stared at him. Then she shook her head. “We’ve already determined that education doesn’t equal smarts. As for the culture and the wealth? Those are simply the consequences of having been raised the way I was raised.”
She flattened her lips and skewered him with a look. “And you know you’re beautiful. It’s not just your charm and Southern drawl that draw women to you like moths to a flame. It’s your face too.” She pointed. “That movie star face that, annoyingly, only seems to be getting better with age.”
He was about to feign shock and tease her about complimenting him again. Twice in one day! But she wasn’t finished.
“Plus you’re funny and you’re kind and somehow, despite all the things I just listed, you’re still humble. There’s probably not a woman on the planet who wouldn’t fall in love with you given the chance. But none of that matters, because you’ve made it clear you’ll never give anyone a chance. So…” She shook her head in exasperation. “So there.”
He tucked her words into a corner of his hard, stone heart. And there they stayed.
There had been plenty of times in his life when he’d wished things were different. When he’d wished he was different. But never more so than in that moment.
If he’d been anyone but Nash Wakefield’s son, he’d have gone down on one knee and pledged his life to her. As it was, all he could do was give her the same truth he’d always given her.
“I can’t be somethin’ I’m not.” His voice sounded rusty, like the old tools that had hung in the shed behind his parents’ house. “And I can’t feel somethin’ I don’t. The stuff they write about in the storybooks, the stuff we see here everyday between the original Knights and their partners? That stuff isn’t for me.”
She eyed him for a long while. Finally, she whispered, “Why? Can you at least tell me that much?”
“Just take my word for it,” he assured her and stopped there even though he wanted to add, But if I was goin’ to be with anyone, if I was capable of pledgin’ my life to anyone, it’d be you. Because she was…everything. Everything that was good and beautiful and loyal and true.
He’d already said too much though.
Or…maybe he hadn’t said enough.
Hellfire and damnation, she was making his head spin. It was time to change the subject. “How are ya feelin’ after findin’ out about the senator?”
He could tell by her expression she wasn’t ready to switch topics. But she was too tired to keep bashing her head up against a brick wall, and so she shrugged.
“Sort of numb. I didn’t know Bethany Chastain more than in passing. But if my dad liked her, then she must’ve been okay. You know, as far as politicians go.”
“Speakin’ of your dad. I wonder why he didn’t phone ya when he heard of the senator’s passin’?”
She blinked as if she found that strange too. Then she reached into her bedside table and pulled out her cell phone. The thick bedcovers slipped down to reveal her smooth, pale shoulders and her pajama top pulled toward the middle of her torso so he caught just the briefest glimpse of side-boob.
Six PM to midnight. Again.
It was becoming a problem. How was he supposed to get any work done if he was constantly slinging lumber?
After thumbing on her phone’s screen, she grimaced. “He did call me.” She turned the device to show him her home screen with all the alerts. “Three times. I had turned it off because I was…” She cleared her throat and shot him a shy glance from beneath her inky lashes. “Uh…otherwise occupied.”
Liquid heat instantly flooded his veins.
The thought of her lying in bed touching herself or…better yet…using a toy on herself was nearly enough to make him get down on one knee and pledge to give her all she wanted, everything she could ever desire. And damn where he’d come from and who he’d come from and the danger that would bring them both.
Good sense won the day, however, and he simply asked with a flirtatious grin, “Anything you’d like to share?”
“Anything you’d like to share?” she countered.
With a self-deprecating sigh, he admitted, “You’d be disappointed.”
“Why?” She cocked her head.
“Well, ’cause after holdin’ ya and kissin’ ya, and especially knowin’ ya were next door touchin’ yourself, I got off in about twelve strokes. So there’s not much to talk about.”
The blush that stole up her throat to stain her cheeks was the prettiest pink. When she bit her lip, it forced some color back into her mouth.
He could tell she wasn’t comfortable entertaining him with tales of how she’d released her own steam. So as much as he wanted to press her, he relented and asked instead, “Ya goin’ to call your pops back and tell him ’bout the feds wantin’ to take ya to a safe house?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He sounded exhausted. I hope he’s in bed. I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”
“And what do ya think about Senator Chastain’s death? Ya think it’s nefarious or coincidence?”
“I have no idea.” She pressed a finger to the temple that wasn’t sporting a goose egg. “The only thing I know for sure is that this night is starting to blur. I feel like this entire experience is going to exist as more of an emotional scar than it will as an actual memory.”
He knew about emotional scars. He had a big, honkin’ one right down the center of his soul.
Which brought him back to their previous subject. “I wish I could be the kind of man ya want, Liza.” His voice cracked on her name. “Not sure why that was so hard for me to say.”
She smiled. And it was so sad that, had he had an actual heart, the damn thing would’ve snapped in two. “Probably the same reason it was so hard for me to hear.”
He suddenly found the seam in the toes of his socks extremely interesting.
If he’d thought it had been hard to look at her and know she would never want him the way he wanted her, it was twice that hard to look at her and know she would. That she could.
If only he didn’t have a cold stone for a heart.
If only there wasn’t that venomous, prickly legged thing living inside him.
If only…