Chapter Seventeen
ONE SECOND, HUNTER WAS just about the most content he’d ever been in his life.
The next, he was jerking upright, his heart pounding out of his chest.
“Emma?” Oh, shit, why was she crying? All the good endorphins that had been racing through his bloodstream got drowned out by a rush of ice and panic. “Emma, sweetheart, what happened?”
He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he was left uselessly hovering them over her body. Should he touch her? Draw her close? Was that what had upset her in the first place?
“Did I hurt you?” He was trying to stay calm, but his voice came out broken and strained. “Was it—”
He’d just had the best sex of his life, and he’d sworn to God she was on the same page. They’d rushed into things a bit, sure, but he’d kept checking in with her. He was so sure she’d been into it.
Something in his chest went jagged and sharp.
Did she—did she not want that?
How could he have missed the signs?
Shaking her head, she half sat up, dragging the covers with her and tucking them under her arms. “Sorry,” she breathed.
“No, Jesus. I’m sorry.” He dug his nails into the meat of his palm.
“Don’t be.” Her soft fingertips came to rest on the back of his hand, tugging at him gently. With her other hand, she swabbed at her eyes. “I’m fine, I swear.”
“But—”
“They’re good tears.” She hiccuped and laughed, and okay. A little of the pressure behind his ribs eased, but he was still kind of freaking out here.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded vigorously. He grabbed the box of tissues off his nightstand and handed them to her, and she pulled out a couple.
He looked away as she mopped at her face, which was funny—trying to give her a modicum of privacy when they were both sitting here naked, after just having been about as intimate as two people could be.
Or at least that was how it had been for him.
Holding the ball of wadded-up tissues in her lap, she sniffled. He dared to brush the backs of his knuckles against her knee. He was dying here, but he didn’t want to pressure her. “Talk to me? Please?”
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say, because her eyes started to well up again.
“Or not,” he rushed to say, “it’s fine—”
“You’re just being so nice to me.” The words practically burst out of her, her cheeks going red, her hands in her lap shredding those tear-soaked tissues to bits, and—
Wait, what?
“I—” His throat closed, his brows pulling together. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No, silly.” She swatted at him playfully, and the ice started to retreat from his veins. Grabbing a fresh tissue, she blotted her eyes again. “Sorry, I’m being super weird.”
“I mean, maybe a little, but that’s okay.” Finding his confidence again, he slid a little closer to her in the bed. When she didn’t pull away, he put his arm around her, and she leaned into him. He breathed out deeply, relieved.
“This is going to sound terrible,” she said quietly, “and I swear I’m not looking for sympathy or anything. Just—I don’t know if anyone’s ever been so thoughtful, or paid so much attention to what I want.”
He almost didn’t want to know, but he had to ask. “Like, in bed?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “Yes, but also no. Just. Everywhere.” She let out a shuddering breath.
He’d already called her ex a douche. He really didn’t want to go insulting the guy again, but he also had a deep interest in running into the asshole in a dark alley someday.
Closing both arms around her, he rested his brow against the top of her head. “I don’t know how anyone could not pay attention to you.”
She let out a laugh, but it wasn’t entirely a happy one. “There’s a lot going on in this world, you know.”
“But none of it matters as much as the people you care about.”
And he was getting close to a dangerous edge here. Confessing too much. Could he pretend to not care about her, though? After what they’d shared together?
“I just feel like…” Her voice started out small, and it trailed off into nothing.
He wanted so badly to tell her to keep going, but he held his tongue, forcing himself to wait her out.
“I mean, obviously, there was Brock,” she said. “He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, I swear. He was never mean, and he made me feel really special, at least in the beginning. It was as if I was a part of his family, from the very start.”
This time he couldn’t keep silent. “But?”
“But he never noticed that I didn’t like all the same things he did.” She swallowed, her throat bobbing. “And don’t get me wrong—things between us were okay in, um. Bed.”
Her cheeks were crimson, and that was so damn cute.
Or at least it would be, if everything she was saying weren’t so infuriating. “‘Okay’ is definitely not good enough.”
“I thought it was.” Her voice broke. “Until today.”
He puffed up with pride, but it was tempered by his absolute frustration.
Today had been amazing. They’d clicked in a way he hadn’t even known was possible, and she’d felt like heaven against his skin.
He’d done his best to bring her pleasure, and it had brought him nothing but pleasure in return. He’d loved watching her fall to pieces.
But he hadn’t done anything revolutionary. Nothing he ever would have imagined could merit a minor breakdown, in any case.
“It should always be like that,” he told her, hugging her close.
“But it goes beyond romantic stuff. Even when I was growing up…” She pulled back by a fraction, and he loosened his grip. “I never felt like I was ever the focus of anything. Or anyone.”
Ouch. He made an encouraging noise, hoping she’d explain.
She flitted her glance up to meet his eyes. “I told you my grandma lived with us when I was younger?”
“Yeah, I think so. Your mom took care of her?”
She nodded, looking back down at her hands. “My mom was always so worried about her mom, and my dad was worried about the both of them.”
“I guess I can see that.”
“It was my job to just go with the flow.” She chuckled wryly again, and he was really starting to dislike the particular tenor of that laugh. “Not make trouble—or at least not any more trouble than we already had. I was their good little trouper, but every now and then…”
“Yeah?”
She shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, when it obviously was.
“What if I’d come first? What if I hadn’t had to be a trouper, or what if I could have—I don’t know, thrown a tantrum in a toy store?
Not that that’s cool, or anything, but I always felt like I had to keep this cheery face on, and keep whatever I wanted under wraps, and… ”
She blinked, her eyes going glassy again, and oh no.
“Emma…”
“You won’t let me do any of that,” she said, like it was an accusation and a compliment, all at the same time, and what was he supposed to do with that? “You keep asking me what I want, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to get used to it, and…” She bit her lip.
Oh. The accusation suddenly dropped into place.
“And you don’t trust me,” he said dully.
“I do!” She took his hand in his, but she was still keeping her distance, too. “But—you don’t believe in fate, and everybody else in this town thinks some magical destiny threw us together.”
“Forget fate,” he pleaded. If only everybody in Heart’s Hope Crossing would forget it, too. “I don’t care about what anybody else thinks.”
“But you care about what happened to your dad.”
And yeah. Okay. That was true.
How could he even explain this? That he still didn’t believe in fate or happily-ever-after. That he still knew the ugly truth about what came after after.
But right now? That was the last thing on his mind. “I care about you,” he managed to choke out.
So much it scared him.
“I—” He swallowed, his throat suddenly raw.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen in the long run, but I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think something was happening between us.
” He closed both of his hands around hers.
“I want to keep finding out every little thing you like. I want to make you dessert, and feed it to you in bed, and watch your face light up when something delights you. I want—”
He wanted a lot of things he’d never thought were for him. And that was terrifying.
So instead of saying any more of them out loud, he dipped down, possessing her mouth in a kiss that started soft but instantly went deep.
“I want you,” he breathed, parting from her lips.
“I want you, too.” Her fingertips dug into the back of his neck, clinging to him, and he never wanted her to let go. “But I’m afraid.”
“You don’t have to be,” he promised.
And who was he to make that kind of promise? How dare he? But he couldn’t bring himself to take it back.
He shook his head, kissing her again. He vowed, quietly, “Not with me.”
He could taste her doubt in her kiss, but what could he do to erase it? He’d accused her of not trusting him, but a part of him didn’t trust himself.
So instead of trying to convince her, he just held her close, pouring everything he felt into the motion of his mouth against hers. The covers fell away, and she let him pull her into his lap. She let out a soft moan, and his desire came roaring back to life.
Which was messed up—she’d been crying two minutes ago. She wasn’t crying anymore, though. She was giving him back everything that he gave her, and as she surrendered to the kiss—surrendered to him—he felt himself surrendering, too.
To her. To whatever was building between them.
And maybe, just maybe…
To fate.