“I’m not a thing. And you won’t destroy me.” I hesitated only a second, then took one step closer. The difference was only inches, but the air seemed suddenly thicker, as if my lungs had to work harder to draw in oxygen. “It’s okay,” I said again.
All around us, the party continued, but I’m not sure either one of us was aware. Instead, it felt as if we’d stepped into a vortex, and at least in our little corner of space and time nothing else mattered or even existed.
I held my breath, wanting his touch so badly I could taste it. And when he finally brushed the side of his thumb over my cheekbone, it was all I could do not to moan aloud.
All too quickly he took his hand away, leaving me bereft.
All too quickly he stepped back, forcing the world around us to come back to life.
“I just had to see if I was right,” he said.
“About?”
“Your skin. It’s like touching a promise.”
“Is it?” I murmured.
“Tender,” he said. “And a bit mysterious. With layer upon layer just waiting to be discovered.”
My breath stuttered in my chest. “I didn’t know you thought that,” I said. “I didn’t know you thought about me at all.”
He was silent for so long I began to fear he wasn’t going to answer. When he spoke, his words cut through me, sharp and sweet. “I think about you more than I should.”
It was suddenly very warm in the gallery. Little beads of sweat gathered at the hairline on the back of my neck. I needed air, because it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
Somehow, miraculously, I formed words. “What are you thinking now?”
I saw the answer I craved in the lines of his face and the stiff control of his body. I felt it in the way the air between us crackled and sparked. I even smelled it, that warm and musky scent of desire.
The reality of his answer surrounded and enticed me, and yet when he spoke, his words denied me. Denied us both.
“I’m thinking no,” he said, destroying me with nothing more than those three simple words. “And I’m thinking that I need to get back to my guests.”
four
I watched him go, numb from the knowledge that despite being so close I had failed so spectacularly.
I couldn’t even take any solace from the fact that when he denied me, he was denying himself, too. I wanted his touch, not just the knowledge that he wanted me.
Then take it.
The thought was so simple, so accurate and so compelling, that I actually took a step toward him. I’d seen the heat. Hell, I’d practically smelled the sulfur. If I pushed the issue, I knew damn well that I could force an explosion.
Determined, I aimed myself toward him. One step, then another. And then—with the crowd swirling around me and the voices meshing together like a discordant soundtrack—I simply stopped.
Did I want this?
I did, yes. Oh, god, I did. I wanted to feel Cole’s hands on my bare skin, his naked body hot against mine.
And yet . . .
And yet I couldn’t quite make myself go further. I could force an explosion, yes, but what then? If we burned together hot and hard, what would happen next?
Would we rise from the ashes like a phoenix?
Or would that fire simply destroy everything that already existed between us?
I’d told Sloane that I’d passed the point of no return—that I had to move forward even if that meant risking our friendship—and I’d meant the words when I’d said them. But now doubt and fear had crept into the equation.
I cared about this man, and in so many ways. Did I really crave him so much that I was willing to risk destroying everything else?
“Are you okay?”
I blinked, drawn from my thoughts by the woman’s voice. “Yeah,” I said. She was a tall brunette, and somewhat familiar. “Just distracted—and a little light-headed. Too much wine.”