Unlocked (Turner #1.5)(16)
“But you were so serene. I wasn’t even sure you heard me half the time. You never—” He swallowed his protests. She shouldn’t have to break down in public for him to have a conscience.
“I’ll be the first to admit, Westfeld, that you’re an attractive man. When you’re not being cruel, you can be quite charming. You’re handsome.” Her voice dropped. “And I’m very curious about what we spoke of the other night.”
Such a bare recitation. Any other lady would have gladly accepted him for half as much reason, and he’d be kissing her already. Too bad he didn’t want any other lady. He wanted this one. He was only beginning to realize how much.
“But none of that matters. When I see you, I remember that you made me want to drown rather than be myself.”
He’d known he had been cruel. But this was the first time he’d really felt it, a deep ache that went straight to his bones. He didn’t want to believe that that could be chalked up to his account. How could he ever make up for that?
You can’t, you ass.
He’d never understood what regret meant until now. It wasn’t the pallid sort of wish he’d entertained before. He wished he could reach inside himself and take back what he had done. He didn’t want to be himself any longer.
No words could make it up to her. And perhaps that was precisely what struck him at that moment. He was always going to be the man who had done that to her. No matter how hard he wanted, his past followed him around as faithfully as his shadow. He would always cast darkness on her.
“Well,” he said eventually. “That’s it, then.”
She met his eyes. She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “That is it.”
When a man was nineteen, he felt invulnerable—as if nothing could touch him. That stupid belief had been the basis of a great many idiotic things that Evan had done in his life. But this notion that all the hurt he’d caused could simply disappear because he wanted it to—that had been the last childish dream he’d held on to. He let go of it now. What you did when you were young could kill you. It just might take years to do it.
“We can still be friends,” she was saying calmly. “Just...not anything else.”
“Friends.”
“Even...even back then, there were times I almost thought I could like you.”
“You are too generous.” The words came out sounding bitter, but he didn’t intend them that way. He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t. Friendship and kindness from her—it was more than he deserved. Less than he wanted, true, but…
“I haven’t got it in me to give you any more trust than friendship. I’m still not sure I can trust you past three minutes.”
He swallowed. If he’d been his young self, he’d have stalked away in a fit of pique, furious that she’d thwarted him. He would have had his revenge upon her for rejecting him. But he was a great deal older now. And he’d cast enough shadows.
“Good.” He leaned closer to her. “Then in three minutes, we can be friends.”
“Three minutes? Why wait three—”
“Because friends don’t do this,” he replied, and leaned toward her. This time, he didn’t put his arm immediately about her. His lips touched hers. She was still—too still—and for a moment he thought he’d read her wrongly. But then she kissed him back.
She tasted like mint and wild honey. She was soft against him. And, oh, how easy it would be to let his control snap. To see precisely what he could do in the three minutes he’d given himself.
She liked kissing him. He could tell by the tenor of her breathing, by the sound she made in her throat as his tongue traced the seam of her lips.
He could tell because she hadn’t slapped him.
He set his arm around her and pulled her close. When she opened up to him, it felt even better than any of his fantasies. His mind could only envision one part of her body at a time—lips or br**sts or bu**ocks, but never all three together. But here in the flesh she was a solid armful, an overload of good things. He could not break her down into constituent parts. It was just Elaine leaning against him, Elaine that made that sound in her throat, and then, by God, she moved closer, until her chest brushed his. He was on fire for her.
Still, in the back of his head, he could almost hear the inexorable tick of clockwork, as if this tryst were timed by the watch in this pocket. Three, and his other hand crept down her waist, cupping her close. Two, and his tongue sought hers out. One…
One kiss, and he’d come to the end of her trust.
He pulled back. Her fingers had slipped under his elbows, and they bit into his arms, ten little needle points of pressure. He wasn’t sure if she was holding him close or keeping him at arm’s length.
“Westfeld.” Her voice was just a little rough. “I...I...Please don’t do that again.”
He wanted to ask if she’d liked it. He already knew the answer. She’d liked it, but he’d reminded her, once again, of drowning. He wanted to curse.
“No,” he said softly. “We’re simply friends now, and friends don’t do that to each other. Not ever again.”
Chapter Seven
London, nine months later.
When Westfeld had first offered her friendship, Elaine hadn’t believed it. Friendship was a concept men bandied about to save face when they were rejected.