Perfectly Imperfect

I follow his movements when he walks over to the table and leans down to collect a cooler placed near the back wall. My eyes move down from his face, and I watch the fabric of his black tee shirt pull against his muscles. His forearms flex when he lifts the cooler, and before he turns, I note how good his butt looks in his denim jeans.

“Is it hot in here?” I ask and lean back to fan my face. “It feels hot.”

“It’s not hot, Willow,” he responds, bringing the cooler over and sitting next to me on the couch.

Right next to me.

Not a few spaces down to leave plenty of space between us. Nope, right next to me, so close that his thick thigh presses against mine. The heat his touch brings feels like a scorching burn through the fabric of our pants.

“Hey,” he says, his hypnotic voice soft like smooth velvet.

“Hi,” I squeak.

“Are you nervous?”

I nod. “Uh, clearly. I just sucked back the majority of this bottle trying to calm myself down.”

His laugh is low. His eyes are shining brightly. “What makes you so nervous around me?” He turns his attention to the cooler and pulls out some grapes and cheese slices.

Pulling a plate from inside, he arranges a few slices before passing it over to me. I look at the plate as if it’s a snake about to bite me. I hate eating in front of people. I always wonder if they can hear each bite and then swallow as it settles in my stomach.

Reaching out, I take the offering and pick up one of the grapes, plopping it in my mouth and chewing, not taking my eyes from his.

“Willow, talk to me.”

I grab a slice of the cheese and swallow it down before I speak. “You’re really intimidating.”

His brow furrows. He doesn’t speak, but nods, waiting for me to continue.

“And … okay, well, you make me feel things that I have no idea how to process.”

He nods. “Yeah, Willow, likewise.”

“What?”

“Honesty, right?” he asks and waits for my confirmation before continuing. “A few years ago, I was at a charity function in New York for one of the local hospitals. They were opening a new cancer treatment center, and Kane Entertainment was one of the majority donors. That, Willow, was the first time in my life I felt something burn my senses into awareness. I couldn’t understand it. The spark against my skin, the tingles down my spine—none of it made sense. It wasn’t until about an hour into the event that I found out why … or I should say who had caused it.”

“What?” I gasp, knowing exactly what event to which he was referring.

He doesn’t speak, but when my eyes widen, he nods, letting out a soft laugh.

“Yeah. You. I didn’t know anything about you. I went to leave the table as soon as dinner was over, but that was when you stood from your table and left with someone else. I brushed it off because it was clear that you were spoken for, but I didn’t feel it again until that day at Buchanan’s firm. Thirty-five years and not once has someone made me feel like that, Willow. I still knew nothing about you, but there was no way I was going to ignore what my body was telling me. It confused the hell out of me. I felt protective of you. A stranger to me in every sense of the word, but it wasn’t just that foreign protectiveness that confused me. I felt as if I had finally found something I hadn’t even realized I had been searching for.”

“But … Jesus, Kane, I was a mess.”

“No, Willow, you weren’t.”

I look down at my now empty plate before leaning forward and placing it on the table. The buzz I had felt earlier ebbed, and I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with getting something in my stomach and everything to do with the shock his words caused.

“That day …” I pause, looking down at my hands. “Kane, I was without a doubt a mess that day. Emotional and a ball of nerves because I was having to deal with my jerk of an ex and my sister—two people who loved to see me suffer.”

“I remember, Willow, but I also remember seeing someone who, even though she was suffering through something hard, pushed herself through it.”

“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree. I was there, Kane. Sprawled on the floor and seconds away from breaking.”

“I told you before that your eyes are like a window to your thoughts, Willow. I didn’t have to know you to be able to see the strength in those beautiful eyes. You just hadn’t realized it yet.”

I shake my head.

“Yeah,” he continues softly.

“You—” I start but have no clue what to say. He’s right, but he’s also wrong.

“Tell me, what did you feel when I helped you up that day?”

My skin heats when I think back to how that day played out.

“You were stuck in a situation I have no doubt was hard, Willow. I know enough from watching those two around you that it was painful. But when we touched … you forgot it all, didn’t you?”

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