Chapter Thirteen
C al had taken pretense to a whole new level.
God help him, he liked it. Deirdre’s scent. The feel of her soft mouth against his. So many years of wondering what it would be like to have her in his arms like this. She was everything he had never had but deep down always wanted.
But for Elijah.
Elijah. His best friend’s memory.
His friend’s wife.
Cal didn’t care.
Pressing Deirdre against the wall next to the front door, he leaned in, caging her, breathing her in, memorizing the fit of his body against hers. “God, Deirdre.” He hauled in a big lungful of air. “This isn’t about plans. It’s not about me. It’s us. We’re in this together.”
“What do you want?” Her mellow voice unraveled his control.
You. I’ve always wanted you. Somehow, he stopped the line from exiting his mouth.
Instead, he selected other words. “Another taste. More. Once wasn’t enough.”
She gave a shaky laugh that rocked his equilibrium. “I’m on board with that.” Gripping his shirt, she pulled, closing the scant distance between them and met his lips.
The tentative brush of flesh against flesh became more insistent. Hotter. Sweeter.
Then another bolt of desire shot through him as he slid his hands up to cup her jaw. He was making up for so many lost years. Everything he had missed was right in front of him. He changed angles, nipping and licking until she opened to him. He swept his tongue between her lips, and she met him thrust for thrust. The air she breathed was the air he breathed. She was a light beckoning him to circle closer. Cal would get burned.
He didn’t care.
Cradling her cheek with one hand, he stroked the soft line of her neck with the other. Her sigh sent a red-hot bolt of need straight to his groin. He hardened immediately and needed more.
Trailing his hand up, he laced his fingers through her hair, holding her so he could feast once more, raining kisses over her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. She smelled like flowers and tasted like fresh air and joy. “I can’t believe… this is…” he said between kisses.
“Calvin”—she wrapped her hands around his neck and drew him closer—“it’s been so long.”
He kissed her until his head swam. It had been so long.
Too long.
It had been never .
This had never happened before.
The concept woke him up as fast as if he’d plunged through the ice into frigid water. They had never been this close because of her husband. His best friend.
The choice she had made.
The choice Calvin had made not to compete.
Because he couldn’t risk being second best.
With a growl of sexual frustration and existential guilt, he rested his forehead against hers and hauled in huge lungfuls of air until he wrestled his body’s reactions under control. Deirdre still arched against him with those soft noises that short-circuited his brain. This situation was right, but it wasn’t right. After a moment, he gently but firmly tugged her hands from around him and pressed the backs of them to his lips as he stepped back.
Her raw worry and wide-eyed vulnerability almost dropped him to his knees. She licked her parted lips.
Her gaze flickered over him. “Did I do something wrong, Calvin?”
It took him a solid five seconds to form appropriate words in an appropriately gentle tone. “We can’t do this.”
Rearing back, she said, “This? What? Kissing. We’re adults. Pretty sure we can do whatever we want as long as it’s consensual.” She laughed, then froze. “Unless it’s not consensual. Oh my gosh. Calvin. I didn’t—”
He lifted his hands. “Oh, no. I am totally on board with everything we were doing. No question about that.”
“But?” When he didn’t answer, she nodded. “Got it. Hey, strong work on the pretend dating, by the way.” The sad mirth in her voice twisted an imaginary dagger in his chest.
Here she was, trying to calm the situation and make him feel better. Always attending to others’ feelings, even as he and Deirdre faked their togetherness for public consumption and private relief.
That was the problem. He swallowed a hard lump of disappointment.
This wasn’t real.
It could be.
“What if I wasn’t pretending?”
She sucked in a gasp. “I… I don’t know. I might—”
At her response, he quickly added, “The question was rhetorical.”
“Why?”
They stood way too close to be having this conversation. Even as he took another step back, he said, “Because I’m only here on a temporary basis. This fake relationship is for show.”
She paused. “Again, we’re adults. We can decide what’s right for us.” Her gaze met his, momentarily hopeful. Then her gaze slid away.
Cal wouldn’t presume to understand everything running through Deirdre’s mind right now, but it had to involve a complex set of feelings.
Or maybe it truly was as simple as desire?
He had desire for her in spades, but no way would a brief fling satisfy. It would be like having the first bite of Thanksgiving dinner and then pushing back from the table, stomach still aching with hunger. Then saying no thanks . He couldn’t do that. Better to stop now and avoid inevitable hurt. “Yes, we are adults. We can agree to do whatever we feel is right.”
“But?”
“The other thing. It’s still hanging over us.”
“What thing?” Her eyes narrowed. Deep down, she knew.
He sure as hell knew. Even if he’d never spoken about it. “I can’t ever compare to him, Deirdre.”
She stopped moving completely. “No one is comparing you to Elijah.”
“I was the second choice. On some level, we both know it.”
“Calvin…” Her voice broke. “I don’t know what to say to that. It’s complicated. Elijah was a special person to both of us. But I never said you were second choice.”
“You made a choice, didn’t you?”
“Because you left.”
Silence stretched between them. The faint sound of a truck engine going through town faded away. Had he missed his chance because of his fear of failure?
“It was obvious that Elijah and you were meant to be together,” he said.
“What are you saying?” Her blue eyes went wide, her hand pressed to her neck.
“Was I wrong?”
“Damn it, Calvin.” A sob broke free, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.
He wanted to kick himself for ruining their evening. He could still feel the heated imprint of her lips against his.
“This is too much to process. I can’t.” She half-gasped. “I can’t have this conversation right now. Please.”
“Sure, Deirdre. I get it.”
“No, you don’t. At some point, we need to discuss all of this. Our history.” She leaned her head back against the wall and grimaced. “I am not in the right headspace to try to evaluate what I’m thinking and feeling right now.”
“You don’t have to evaluate anything. I am leaving.”
“Like you did years ago?”
“It was the right thing to do then, and it’s the right thing now.”