Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire #4)(13)

She cocked her head to the side. “Or think they do. I prefer to make my own path.”

He nodded. Yes, that was part of what drew him to her. She lived by her own terms.

All the reasons why he shouldn’t start a relationship with a woman while his life was still off-kilter didn’t matter now that she was in front of him again. He savored the way she looked him directly in the eye when she spoke. She wanted nothing from him. She was simply a confident woman having a conversation with a man. He pushed aside his attraction to her because he craved this part of her as well. “I missed you.”

His words hung in the silence that followed. He hadn’t expected to say it, but he didn’t regret that he had. Another woman might have volleyed back that he didn’t know her well enough for that to be true. Many would have taken it as an invitation for much more than he was offering. In his experience, everyone had an agenda.

What was Sage’s?

She broke her scone in half. “Would you like a piece?”

He shook his head. “Do you live in this area?”

“No. I have a place in Acton.”

“What brings you here every day?”

She broke eye contact to look down at the napkin she began to fold into smaller and smaller triangles. “Nothing in particular.”

She’s lying.

He was fascinated. “Do you work?”

“I told you what I do.” She tore off a piece of the napkin and rolled it between her fingers before repeating the action. “Go ahead, say it’s ridiculous. I’m used to being mocked for it.”

He leaned forward and cupped her chin with one hand, raising her eyes back to his. The feel of her sent desire shooting through him. Her eyes widened as if she felt a similar jolt. He dropped his hand. Holy shit, he wanted her, but not the way he had the first time he met her. He didn’t want to wake up and slip out while she slept. When she looked at him that way, he wished he really were Wayne Easton. Wayne hadn’t left more women than he could remember the names of. He wasn’t a pathetic sap who would fund a movie for a woman simply because she said she loved him. “People aren’t kind to what they don’t understand.”

She shrugged, but there was sadness in her eyes. “Like I said, I’m used to it.”

He would have accepted her answer from most people, but he felt a sudden protectiveness. He himself had joked about her choice of career, and he regretted not being kinder. “How did you become a plant psychologist?”

She took a bite of her scone, chewed, then sipped her coffee before answering. “I have a master of science in ethnobotany. It’s essentially the study of human-environment interaction and the sociocultural importance of plants around the world.”

“Impressive.” And not at all the response he’d imagined.

“The subject is. Plants are complex creatures humanity has underestimated. Science is proving that, although their movements occur at a rate too slow for our eye to register, they make choices, and some believe they even feel pain. People are driven to explore space, but there’s so much here on our own planet that we don’t understand.”

“Feel pain? Don’t tell vegans that. If science gives lettuce a voice, they’re screwed.” She didn’t smile, and he regretted making the joke. He hadn’t been making fun of what she did. Hell, he still wasn’t sure what that was yet. “That was stupid, sorry.”

“No, it was funny,” she said while looking down at her napkin and demolishing it again.

He’d disappointed her, but she wasn’t going to say it. Although he’d spent his life dreading the constant criticism he received from his family, he didn’t like that she accepted his bad behavior as her due. “You didn’t think so.”

“What I think isn’t going to change your mind.”

God, how many times had he thought exactly that? “So, tell me to fuck off.”

She choked on nothing, then said, “I would never do that.”

“Try it. It might feel better than you think.”

She swirled her coffee in her cup. “It wouldn’t. I’m still feeling crappy about the last time I lost my temper.”

Now this he had to hear. “What did you do?”

Sage raised her eyes to his. “I said hurtful things to a person who didn’t deserve it simply because I’ve never been brave enough to say it to the person who does.”

“And that bothers you.” He’d done much worse and felt less remorse about it. Like someone witnessing a miracle, he wanted this to be real—wanted her to be real. He leaned forward in his seat.

“Of course it does. I want to make people happy, not hurt them.”

He studied her expression again, seeing the strain in her eyes this time. “No one is perfect.”

She shook her head in disgust. “I’m well aware of that.”

Silence hung heavy between them again.

She spoke first. “Sorry. It’s been a tough week.”

“Tell me about it.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said those words—to anyone.

This time he saw an uncertainty and yearning in her that mirrored the state of his own soul. “Ever look at yourself in the mirror and not like what you see?”

“Every damn day,” he said in a low tone.