More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(30)

When he dropped another kiss on Clara’s forehead, Tina surged to her feet clumsily, nearly knocking the desk chair over.

“I have to get back to work,” she said, her voice wobbling embarrassingly. She had to get out of this room before she humiliated herself even further.

“We’ll be out of your hair in—”

“I’ll see you later, Libby,” she said, interrupting her friend’s words rudely. She hurried from the room with very little grace or dignity and, instead of going back to the restaurant, made a beeline for the ladies’ room.

Thankfully it was empty, and she went straight to one of the basins and braced her hands on the countertop, employing her breathing tactics for the second time that day. She had to stop reacting to him like this, had to stop allowing his very presence to unsettle her so much.

But seeing him with Clara, watching him cuddle and cradle her. It had been too much. The tears snuck up on her. One second she was staring at her face in the mirror, and the next she could barely see her reflection because of the blistering tears seeping down her cheeks.

“Come on, Tina,” she implored her blurry likeness. “This is stupid. It was a lifetime ago.”

“Tina?”

Oh God.

She shut her eyes and scrubbed at her cheeks in an attempt to get rid of the tears, but she knew that her pale, blotchy complexion and red-rimmed, swollen eyes would give her away in an instant.

Did give her away in an instant.

She lifted her eyes to meet Harris’s in the mirror. He looked concerned. Of course he looked concerned. She was crying like an idiot.

“This is the ladies’ room,” she said inanely, possibly the stupidest thing she had said to him to date.

“I know that,” he said, his lips kicking up at the corners.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I know that too. In fact, I feel like I should be taking notes and pictures for all male kind. This isn’t at all what I was expecting.”

He ventured farther into the room, deliberately releasing her eyes and giving her an opportunity to gather herself, while he allowed his gaze to roam around the space. Tina gratefully yanked up some tissues from the box on the countertop and dabbed at her wet face before swiping at her nose. She could do nothing to disguise the bloodshot eyes and unattractive red splotches on her otherwise pale skin. She was an ugly crier . . . a redhead’s curse.

“What were you expecting?” she asked, more for the sake of keeping the conversation neutral than anything else.

“I don’t know . . . candy floss machines, perfumes, hand creams. Girlie stuff. It looks like the men’s bathroom, only without the urinals.”

“This can’t be the first time you’ve ventured into a ladies’ room,” Tina said, still desperate to keep the conversation from veering into more personal terrain. Her voice sounded uneven and thick with tears. He finally allowed his eyes to drift back to hers, meeting and holding her gaze in the mirror.

“Believe it or not, it actually is,” he admitted and cautiously moved a step closer to her, reminding her of the way a man would approach a skittish wild animal. Which was fair enough, since she felt pretty damned skittish right now. He very, very slowly inched his way forward until he was standing directly behind her, so close that she could feel his every breath stirring her hair.

But he did not touch her.

“Why did you follow me in here?” she asked.

“You seemed upset. I was concerned.”

“About me?”

“Who else?”

“You have no right to be concerned.”

“And yet I am.”

She had no response to that. His words confused her, disconcerted her.

“I wish you hadn’t come here.”

“The ladies’ room or the town?”

“Both.”

He sighed deeply, and the movement caused his chest to brush against her back. She shuddered, disturbed by his extreme proximity. Disturbed and excited.

“I came here for Libby,” he said, his voice lacking conviction.

“Did you?”

“And for you. We have unfinished business.”





Chapter Five

“No, we don’t,” Tina denied. His breathing seemed to be getting heavier. It sounded uneven, jaggedly sawing in and out of his lungs.

“Turn around.” The words were whispered, and she watched as his eyes closed helplessly while he buried his nose in her hair.

“No.”

“Tina.” Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips. “Please.”

“I can’t.” She didn’t know what was happening. It unsettled her. This was not something that should be happening. Ever. This awareness. This need to turn and step into his arms. It was undermining years of progress.

His hands lifted, hesitated—hovering in midair for a timeless moment, during which they both stopped breathing—and then settled on her upper arms. Lightly shackling her in his hold.

She was wearing a sexy black short-sleeved wiggle dress that celebrated her voluptuous curves . . . and his strong hands left scalding imprints on her flesh.

They both froze at the skin-on-skin contact before Tina shuddered in reaction and Harris groaned.

“I’d forgotten how soft you are,” he whispered, his voice taut, and Tina stiffened at that word.