Captured(35)

I nod. “Yeah, it is.”

A long, warm breeze sends the willow fronds waving, and then a low distant growl of thunder rolls over us. Rain hisses, stray drops hitting our faces and bodies, rippling the surface of the pond in a million concentric spreading circles. Neither of us moves. The rain doesn’t really touch us, and the sound of it is peaceful, soothing.

Seconds of silence turn to minutes, each of us lost in our own thoughts and the rain falling in wind-blown waves across the water.

“Reagan?” His voice is low and deep. I turn into him, my body pressed against his. “You are beautiful. You should know that. You’re a hell of woman. You’re beautiful, and you are wanted. I know I’m not supposed to feel that way about you, but f*ck it. I do. What just happened between us, it probably shouldn’t have. But it did, and I guess I’m * enough to not feel sorry for it. Guilty, yes. Confused, a little. But I’m not sorry. I felt more alive just now than I have in…in a long motherf*cking time.”

I have to breathe and swallow and blink a few times before I can respond. God, I’m so emotional. “You’re not an *, Derek.” I lift up on an elbow. My boobs drape against his chest. I steady myself with a palm to his heartbeat. My eyes meet his, and I let him see the turmoil in my soul, let him see whatever he can see. “I didn’t just let that happen, okay? I’m not just…I don’t know…complicit? That feels like the right word. I wanted that to happen. I took everything you were giving and gave it right back. So quit hogging all the guilt, would you?”

He chuckles. “All right, I guess you can have some of it.” His hand slides down my bicep. Down my waist. Cups the extreme lower edge of my back, just above my butt, as if he’s contemplating caressing me there, but chickens out.

I want him to touch me, and I’m scared of what will happen if he does. I feel both in equal measure. “Derek?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s happening? Here, between us.”

“Hell if I know.” His palm ascends to my shoulder blades, his thumb rolling over the back of my neck, and then his touch moves back downward again, and he gets closer to my ass this time. “Something wrong? Something right? I don’t even know.”

That’s not what I want to hear. “Derek…I need—I can’t handle the confusion. I can’t handle not knowing. I’ve been—I’ve been in charge for so long. I’ve been strong and decisive. Made the hard decisions, for myself and for Tommy. All alone, making this farm work.” I’m enjoying this far too much, and I simply cannot move away from his touch. No matter how much I know I should, especially considering what I’m saying at this very moment. “I can’t be in charge of this, too. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what’s right or wrong, and I don’t even know how to decide.”

“You need me to be strong for you. You deserve that.” He pauses for a long moment. “You also deserve honesty, so I’ll tell you I’m just not sure I have that. I don’t know what’s right or wrong any more than you do. Less, maybe. You’ve got me tripping on my own hormones, desires, and needs, and I’m not sure I’ve got what it takes to…I don’t even know. Either give you what you need and deserve, or walk away. I don’t know what this is, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Derek—”

He keeps going. “And you deserve better than that.” Long sigh. “Better than a f*cked-up mess like me.”

Women find confidence attractive. That’s a fact. And I’m no different. But there’s also something about vulnerability, and something about the kind of strength it takes to admit to vulnerability.

He sits up, and I’m forced out of the shelter of his arms. What does it say about me that I don’t want to leave this place, this moment? I don’t want to leave the rain and the pond and the man beside me.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He draws his knees up, wraps his arms around them. My traitorous eyes follow the broad lines and curves of his shoulders; my fingers touch each of the hundred tiny cuts and scars that crisscross his back.

“One of the first things you learn in rifle school is that if you can’t pull the trigger, you have no business holding the weapon. When it comes to combat, that lesson is vital. And…somehow, right now, that lesson feels like it applies to what’s going on between us. Does that make any sense to you? I don’t know how to say it any better.”

I sit up, cross-legged, wrap my arms around my torso. “Yeah, it does, I think.”

“I’m not…how do I put it? I’m not pushing you away. I’m not making a decision. I think we each just need to figure out what we’re thinking and feeling and what we want and what this is.” He stands up, and my eyes follow the shifting of his buttocks, the ripple of his back muscles. He turns slightly, and my gaze is drawn to his dick, long and thick and dangling, swinging. He blows out a breath. “Fuck me, Reagan. How am I supposed to think straight when you look at me like that?”

I rip my gaze away. I stand up. “I’m sorry. I just—you’re beautiful, too, Derek. You are.”

He shakes his head, grins ruefully. “Put some clothes on. Go home and get some sleep.”

I cover my breasts with my palms, take one last long lingering look at Derek, at his body, at the obvious war in his eyes, and then make myself turn away. I ignore the prickling heat of his gaze following the sway of my butt. Pretend I’m not putting more lilt into my walk just for him. Face away from him as I stand on the dock, step into jeans and my T-shirt, gather up my bra, underwear, and shoes and socks.