She’d thought love would make every other man a shadow in her thoughts and feelings. It’s what everyone said. You’ll know. Without a doubt. When you’re in love.
Maybe she didn’t have the capacity to love that way. Perhaps she wasn’t able to love the way other people did. Full-on and completely. Perhaps David had felt it, too. And that’s why it had taken him so long to reach out again. She’d hurt him. Just as she was about to hurt Kye. But she owed him honesty. She owed him in return for his revelations of his private life.
She turned to face him. “You must know there’s someone in my life.”
“Dr. David Gunnar. Law told me.”
Hearing Kye say David’s name gave her a jolt. “What else did Law say?”
“I know you guys were hot and heavy for a while. Law mentioned something about a possible wedding.”
“That’s never been in the plans.”
“Whatever.” But the edge of his lips curved enough to let her know she’d been played for information. He reached out and touched her again, this time with warm possessive hands on her upper arms that felt wonderful even through her clothing. “He’s been gone three months. He has nothing to do with us.”
“He has everything to do with us.” She backstepped but he held her in place without exerting any effort. This wasn’t going the right way. By being nice, he was seeing weakness in her. And that panicked her. She needed to be strong.
She tossed back her head. “I was pretending last night. Pretending you were him. That I wasn’t alone.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she wanted to take them back.
Instead he pulled her toward him. Until inches separated them. “When you’re scared you say things you don’t mean, Yard. I don’t think you could do what you did last night if you didn’t have feelings for me. That wasn’t just sex last night. I’ve had a lot of ‘just sex’ in my life. That wasn’t it.”
“Maybe.” Her voice sounded suffocated. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not like other people. I don’t know how to be in a relationship. My father—”
“Was an abusive asshole.” He paused to let her recover from the shock. “So you—what? You decided you’d hide in relationships with unavailable men so you don’t have to commit?”
“How—?” How could he know that?
But he was looking at her with those golden-brown eyes that saw more than any man had a right to see. His hands held her in a hard grip but his voice turned soft and low. “I know you, Yardley. We didn’t know each other long the first time. But we knew each other when our emotions still rode the top of all we said and did. Then somewhere, as the years passed, you got so busy trying to prove yourself that you’ve lost touch with who you really are. Last night wasn’t about this Doctor David guy. It wasn’t even really about me. It was about you. What are you afraid of finding out about yourself?”
She tried to twist away. “Stop.”
“Sorry. No. Next argument.”
“If you don’t stop I’ll sic Oleg on you.”
“No you won’t.” He was smiling at her in a strangely tender way. “Besides, he likes me now. I’ve walked him twice. We bonded. Over poop. So, you know, it’s serious.”
He was being nice, and kind and funny. It scared her to death. Losing David hurt. Losing Kye just might kill her.
She jutted out her chin, trying not to notice how it brought her mouth even closer to his. “I will call your tutu.”
“My grandmother?”
“Yes. You said she taught you that to dishonor a woman is to dishonor one’s self.”
“You remember that.” His voice had a funny hitch in it. Then the aloha heat of his smile was back. “You like me, Yardley. Maybe I’m not the man, but I’m proof that this doctor’s not the one, either. He’s gone. Move on. Let’s see what we could have.”
Reality dropped on her with a thud. “I’ve heard from Dr. Gunnar. This morning.”
“Nice try. Third ploy.”
She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out her phone. She held it up between them. “This is why I wanted my phone back. Only David has the number. He sent me a message this morning.”
Kye looked at the phone as if it were a grenade. “Show me.”
“Not that you deserve to see it but here.” She punched the buttons to bring up the message.
He squinted at it. “It’s a music video.”
She shrugged. “This is how we communicate. We use song titles to plan meetings.”
She saw him shut down. Nothing to see there. And then she remembered, he’d once been military police, in law enforcement like nearly every other man in her life.
When he’d heard thirty seconds of the song he looked at her with a serious expression. “This doesn’t say anything. Not where he is. Or what he’s been doing. Or even when or if you’ll see him again.”
“It tells me he’s alive.” She sounded defensive. She felt defensive. “He’s okay. And he doesn’t want me to worry.”