She hesitated for only a moment, searching his eyes before stepping into his hotel room. As she untied the belt of her short, khaki-colored raincoat, he watched her, every cell in his body at attention, dread and hope fighting for dominion.
She could only be here for two reasons: one, to tell him that she’d broken up with Neil and she was free, but that was unlikely because Neil wasn’t coming home until later…or two, to tell him that she’d decided not to take a chance on him after all and to let him know that she’d decided to stay with Neil.
His heart clutched as he considered option two, and he forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. Whatever it took, she was here now, which meant that some part of her still had feelings for him. This was his chance. Maybe his last chance. He needed to convince her that he was the right man for her.
Whatever it takes.
With a shimmy of her shoulders, the coat slid down her back, and he caught it, savoring the warmth transferred from her body as he turned to hang it up in the closet. Looking over his shoulder, he watched her pass by the bed and stop in the small sitting area by the windows.
“Nice view,” she said, turning slightly to give him a small smile.
Was there sadness in the smile? Fucking sadness? Like she was here to tell him good-bye? Goose bumps rose up on his skin like falling dominoes, and he shut the closet doors, making his way to her.
“Yeah. Uh, yeah. It’s good. The, uh, the circle.” He sounded like an idiot, all the suaveness he’d perfected over the course of his lifetime failing him now when he needed it most. “You…do you want a drink?”
She turned to look at him again and nodded. “Sure. That would be good.”
He turned toward the wet bar, his blood running cold.
Good? Why would it be good? Why did she need a drink? For courage? Probably for courage. Fuck. No doubt courage to tell him that she had come to her senses, and she didn’t need a retired manwhore in her life when she had a good, decent man who hadn’t fucked half of Philadelphia.
Squatting down, he opened the minibar and took out a small bottle of white wine, standing up to pour it into a stemmed glass. Bracing his hands on the black marble counter over the fridge, he looked up at himself in the mirror. His eyes were dark green and wild, and he was holding it together, though he was certain he stood on the very brink of disaster.
I’m not losing her, he thought desperately. She’s the only woman who’s ever been in color in a sepia world. I can’t lose her now.
Then you better talk fast.
He stood up and crossed the sitting area, handing her the glass.
“Ready?” he asked her.
“Umm…?” She cocked her head to the side, pausing midsip. “For…?”
“For the reasons I’m a better choice for you than Neil,” he reminded her.
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. “Well, actually, I have something to tell you first. It turns out—”
Talk fast. Now!
“I’m falling in love with you,” he blurted out, cutting her off and effectively flaying his heart wide open with a verbal bisection he hadn’t prepared for and had never seen coming. The words reverberated between them, coarse and jagged and painfully inelegant. And his heart bled out with every fast, throbbing beat as he stared at her, waiting for her to say something.
To say anything.
“W-what?” she sputtered, her eyes impossibly wide, her lips parted open. Her voice was soft and breathless when she followed up with a stunned, “Whatdidyousay?”
“I…”
Bewildered by his outburst, he couldn’t form words and was left to stare at her helplessly. Furrowed brows. Brown eyes so deep and confused and shocked, they gazed up at him in disbelief. Her lips moved like they were trying to form a word, but she didn’t say anything.
His heart was beating so fast now that his chest hurt. Ached. And his head. Fuck, his head throbbed like it had been repeatedly hit with a sledgehammer. He pressed a hand to his chest and forced himself to take a deep breath, reminding himself that he was a fit young man, and this wasn’t a heart attack. It was just a panic attack brought on, he realized, not by the gravitas of the words he’d just uttered for the first time in his life, but by the crippling fear of losing Libitz now that he’d found her.
So do something about it. Let her know that you meant it.
He stepped around the coffee table between them and sat down beside her on the couch, holding her eyes. Unlike the rest of his body, which had been shared so freely, his heart was unused, untried, unsullied, and unspoiled, never having been given to anyone. And he hoped—God, he hoped with a desperation he’d never known—that if he gave her his virgin heart, it would be enough for her to choose him, to stay with him.