Chapter 8 Secrets
Secrets
Suddenly, the ring on my finger feels like a shackle, cold and heavy.
I step back, just out of his touch, and instantly regret it.
The warmth of his hands fades from my skin, leaving behind a hollow chill that aches deeper than it should.
My fingers find the ring without thought, twisting it in slow, nervous circles as if I could spin away the guilt rising in my chest.
His eyes follow the movement, and I see it hit him. Disappointment slides across his face like a shadow.
“Oh,” he says softly. “I didn’t realize…”
I drop my hands, too late. “I’m engaged,” I say, the words dry and bitter on my tongue.
He straightens slightly, a raw gentleness in his voice. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to cross a line. I swear I didn’t see your ring. Please, don’t be mad at me.”
How could I be mad at him? My heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe. His voice, low and remorseful, cuts right through me. The easy smile he wore earlier is gone now.
“I couldn’t be mad at you, Cowboy,” I say. “I should’ve been honest from the start. I’m supposed to be married in August…when I go back to Cheyenne.”
He steps forward again, reclaiming the space between us, and with it, the air in my lungs. His closeness overwhelms me. The scent of pine and sun-warmed earth surrounds me like a spell I don’t want to break.
“He’s a lucky man, Clara,” he tells me, each word quiet but edged with a tenderness that steals into my chest. He’s close enough now that I can feel the heat rolling off him, my body attuned to every inch we’re not touching. And somehow, that space feels alive.
I look down at my hand, my voice shaking. “Is it horrible that I wish I hadn’t worn my ring tonight?”
I shouldn’t have said that. But the words escape my mouth before reason can stop them. My heart wants what my conscience can’t afford.
A slow smile curls the corner of his lips, dark and dangerous. “Is it horrible that I was wishing the same thing?”
My skin flushes beneath his gaze, every nerve ending alive and begging. He isn’t touching me, but I swear I can feel the promise of it ghosting across my skin, daring me to lean in. I don’t say anything. I don’t even move. The music swells again, masking the quick stutter of my heart.
He dips his head just slightly, his voice intimate, but enough to draw me back. “I’ll tell you what, Clara. If we cross paths again before you leave…let’s call it divine intervention. And I’ll ask you one more time when I can see you again.”
His words hang between us like something sacred and forbidden. My eyes flick to his mouth, drawn by a pull I’ve never felt. I should walk away. I should put distance between us and seal this temptation in silence.
But instead, my voice betrays me again. “All right,” I whisper, lips barely moving.
And in those words, I know—I’ve already fallen too far.