Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
HARRIET
That’s how many years have passed since my wife left me.
The shock of his confession buzzes in the air.
I’ve never pried into Warren’s past relationships, always presuming he didn’t want to discuss his love life.
It really isn’t any of my business. Marriages break down for a thousand different reasons.
Him and his ex-wife don’t share any children, so the likelihood we’ll ever meet is slim.
It’s the tone with which he dropped the bombshell that shocked me.
Cold and distant.
I’m also not over the fact Warren wasn’t with anyone for nearly eight years before we met.
That, and the fact he thought about me as much as I did him during the weeks we were apart.
This evening was supposed to reassure me things between us were uncomplicated; instead, it’s a cocktail of mixed messages and jaw-dropping declarations.
What do I do with this information?
Warren has made it abundantly clear he has no interest in a relationship, which makes his admission so much more convoluted.
I watch the puzzle of a man from the corner of my eye as he chokes down the last bite of his food. He hasn’t noticed me pushing my portion around my plate for the last ten minutes. It tastes like horse manure.
Maybe tonight was a bad idea, and my lust-filled request for him to help me has tainted everything. Too many times, we’ve toed the fragile line, and now that we’ve stepped over it, there’s no repairing it.
The second Warren sets his fork down, I stand, collecting our plates. “Do you want more? Or dessert? Jimmy’s wife gave me some banana pudding.”
I hear his chair scraping across the floor, followed by his heavy footsteps as he follows me into the kitchen. I dump the plates into the sink and stare out into the night through the window.
Warren’s presence fills the room.
I want this to work so badly. I might’ve spent half of my childhood without two parents, but ever since Warren told me he wanted to be involved, I’ve held onto the hope my kid would have nice memories of their parents together, even if it is as friends.
The burn of his gaze warms me from head to toe but I still don’t look at him.
“If you need to go, I can wrap you up some leftovers.”
The record ended ages ago, and the only sound is the wind whistling through the trees.
“I’m pretty tired. Once I get these dishes done, I’ll probably go to bed.” I’m rambling to fill the silence.
Thump. Thump.
Two steps closer. “Did I say something to upset you?”
I clamp my eyes shut. “No. You actually said a lot of lovely things tonight.”
Thump. Thump.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
“Because as lovely as it was, it’s also confusing.” There, I said it. “And I’m scared I’ve gone and screwed this whole thing up by asking you to…you know, and it’s obvious I’ve made you uncomfortable, and—and…”
Thump. Thump.
I stop breathing when the warmth of his front meets my back. “And what?”
“And I can’t stop thinking about it.” My eyes flutter open to find his hands bracketing either side of my hips.
I’m caged in, yet there’s nothing keeping my next words captive.
“I’m struggling to be your friend, Warren, which is unfair of me to say, considering I’m the one who forced you into this position. ”
A deep hum rises from his throat, vibrating down every vertebra in my spine. “You think I’d do anything I didn’t want to do?”
His hands flex against the wooden worktop.
“You think it’s not tearing me up inside pretending to be your friend when all I want is to ruin our friendship? Over and over”—his breath flutters through my hair—“and over again.”
My legs threaten to buckle.
“Warren.” My voice comes out in a whimper.
“The way you say my name drive me wild.” His forehead rests against my crown, and I shiver as he inhales deeply.
“You’ve got me all messed up, sweetheart.
As if I’m not already too fucked in the head to truly give you what you deserve.
I’d give anything to be that man. All I want is what’s best for you, to honor your wishes, but every time we’re together, you chip away at my restraint. ”
I fall into him, and he catches me. Strong arms cradle me to his chest, solid if not for the thundering beat of his heart.
I look down and pause. This is the first time Warren has ever touched my baby bump.
He’s never asked, but as he holds me and our baby as if we’re the most treasured items on Earth, I question how I ever thought we could just be friends.
“The last thing I want is to make anything difficult for you,” I mumble while gliding my fingertips over his forearms, reveling in the way the muscles flex under my touch.
He huffs against my skin. “The torture is self-inflicted, Harriet.”
Feeling brave, I slowly twist to face him. The force of his gaze melts me to the bones. We’ve found ourselves in unchartered territory. Our confessions pollute the once-clear air.
“I don’t want to torture you.”
My breathing falters when he cups my cheek, drawing me closer until his lips dance across my hairline. “It’s inevitable. I’m just not sure what’s worse: remaining as we are or taking what I want.”
The latter. Take the latter. Take me.
I don’t plead with him. There’s too much torment scrawled across his face as he fights with the right thing to do.
When he moves to pull away, I grip his wrist.
“Don’t go. Stay. I’m not asking anything of you. I’m the one who asked for us to be friends, but…”
Warren doesn’t let my gaze travel far when I look away. He hooks a finger under my chin and raises it. “But what?” He’s so close. Smoke and raw need pour from him before coiling around me.
“But maybe I want to ruin the friendship too.”
Warren is always gentle with me. Careful, cautious, considerate.
Not this time.
Not when he grabs the back of my neck.
Or crushes his mouth to mine.
And certainly not when he kisses me within an inch of my life.
This isn’t gentle. It’s unquenchable. Ruthless. Unparalleled.
I bask in every second, of every nip of his teeth and shift of his tongue. The cotton of his shirt stretches under my fist while the edge of the counter digs into my ass.
We withdraw, breathless, with fire in our eyes and an unspoken pact.
This can’t go further. Not after tonight. The kiss was our last.
But it’s one I’ll take to my grave, because being kissed by Warren O’Connor is a moment to be savored, etched into the brain to never be forgotten.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” He grazes his nose below my ear, nipping at the sensitive skin.
His words sting. “Mistakes happen. We can share the blame.”
“Shouldn’t have but had to. Just once.”
When he finally draws back, apology strains the creases around his face, though the words never come. The only thing we’re sorry for is that nothing can ever come from this. Maybe in another life or years earlier.
“Come on.” He pulls me through the house, into the living room, and guides me to sit on the sofa. I didn’t realize my back ached until it meets the plush cushions.
“What are you doing?” I stare up at him.
“Getting you to relax for once. You cooked. I’ll clean.” He points a warning finger at me. “Stay put and don’t make me come in here.”
Before I can make a smart comment, hoping to shroud my embarrassment, he disappears, mumbling and cussing to himself. When he’s out of sight, I trace my swollen lips. The rush of water and clank of pans echoes from the kitchen, the clatter oddly soothing. My eyes grow heavy, body weightless.
Minutes, maybe hours, pass, and then I’m floating. The cloud isn’t fluffy; it’s solid and safe. I snuggle deeper, not letting go, even as I’m lowered onto my bed and the weight of my duvet covers me. Half-conscious, I listen for his retreating footsteps.
They never come.
The mattress dips.
A warm body hugs me close.
Lips press to my hair.
This is what I deserve. A man who cares so tenderly, he pushes aside his own needs. A man who shows up time and time again. A man who makes me feel protected.
What does Warren deserve? Is it this? Is it finally allowing himself to be happy again? To move on from a relationship I know so little about? What’s stopping him?
I’m too fucked in the head to truly give you what you deserve.
He’s wrong.
So wrong.
I wish I could prove it to him.