Safe at Last (Slow Burn #3)

She hastily lifted her hand to her mouth, rubbing to rid herself of the sensation. God, she was losing her mind. How could she have even thought it for a minute? Worse, if he had tried to kiss her, she wouldn’t have done anything to stop him. It made her the worst sort of person and guilt and self-loathing nagged relentlessly at her. But so too did the longing for his kiss, which she put down as remembering the sweetness of their kisses before everything went to hell.

Zack was the only man to ever kiss her. He was the only man she’d ever loved. Would ever love, for that matter, even if that emotion was dead to her now. But she could still remember how glorious it felt to be young and in love, to have the entire world at her feet and to dream of beautiful things together.

He’d been her dream. And then he’d become her nightmare.

Several long minutes later, in which she’d spent staring down at the table in front of her as though she were in a daze, Zack returned bearing two plates. She hadn’t even registered him cooking, had no idea what he’d concocted.

It smelled divine, though, and her stomach immediately rumbled a sharp protest after being neglected for so long.

He put the plate in front of her and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently before taking his own place across from her at the table. Her foolish body still reacted as though it had no knowledge of his betrayal. It acted as though it were starved for his touch having been bereft of it for so long. Goose bumps cascaded down her arm and a heated flush rushed through her chest and down into her belly. She was so disgusted that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat.

Tears burned like acid, welling up from nowhere. She was an emotional wreck, so conflicted and torn that she felt positively unhinged. Was she going crazy? Had she held on to her sanity for this long only to let it go now, when she needed it the most?

“Gracie.”

She refused to lift her head, embarrassed beyond words for him to see her tears. She should have known he could see them anyway.

“Look at me, damn it,” he said fiercely.

Closing her eyes, she slowly raised her chin and after drawing several steadying breaths, she opened them again only to see him through a cloudy sheen of moisture.

He looked furious . . . But he also looked as sick at heart as she felt. Something had to give. She wouldn’t survive such proximity without completely breaking down. If she thought for a minute that she wouldn’t face-plant by getting up on her own and fleeing, she’d be up and running in a heartbeat.

“We’ve got to talk.” He was positively seething. How could there be so much fury and sorrow both vying for control in his eyes? “This has gone on too goddamn long. Enough. I’ve tried to wait. I’ve tried to be patient. I’d hoped like hell that you’d talk to me but that’s obviously not going to happen. You look like you’re going to break apart and shatter into a million pieces any second and I’m already there. Torturing yourself—me—hell, us does no one any damn good, so I’m done with this. After you eat, you and I are going to have a long, honest conversation and I will not let it go until that happens.”

She stared at him in abject shock, absorbing his impassioned, angry outburst. He was furious, yes, but oddly, not at her. His words and tone said one thing, but his eyes said something entirely different. There was pain—anguish—glimmering in the depths. And . . . regret? Worry for her? Maybe she was imagining it all, but she’d always been especially intuitive with him. She’d assumed it was because she could read his mind, but she didn’t have that ability now, and yet she could easily pick up his emotions.

She knew what was going on in his head—not because she could read his thoughts, but because his eyes and expression broadcast them in startling clarity. She was numb with confusion because he seemed utterly sincere. If she shrugged off her anger and bitterness for just a brief moment, she was able to see that he genuinely cared for her. Maybe even loved?

A gasp nearly escaped her lips, but she snapped them shut to prevent her audible reaction. Her mind was buzzing with so many differing emotions, she was dizzy.

Confused didn’t begin to describe her state. She dropped her gaze because it was uncomfortable to see the naked emotion written starkly on his features and mirrored in his eyes. Eyes are a mirror to the soul, or so the saying went. The eyes didn’t lie. And if all of that was true, then she had one giant contradiction on her hands.

Because if everything she was registering was true, then he did care about her. Deeply.

Her mind was in chaos. Complete turmoil as she quickly replayed every sequence of events since he’d barged back into her life. Every single word he’d spoken. Each expression. The look in his eyes. They all said the same thing, but could they be believed? Or was it all one very elaborate charade?