Wanted to help him. Even as she knew she was the cause for his torment.
“You want to know what I remember,” he said quietly, his fingers fiddling with his cuffs as he rolled the sleeves up to his elbow, his eyes locked on the view before them.
She nodded.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and dipped his head just slightly, glancing at the floor before lifting it and staring out at the night sky.
“I remember everything.” His voice was low. Raspy. Intimate.
Emma closed her eyes, even though he wasn’t looking at her.
“I remember every damn thing,” he continued, gaze still straight ahead. “I remember how I thought you were so shy up until our first date when I realized you had a bawdy, brash sense of humor. I still remember the jolt I got when you first touched my hand. I remember our first kiss, our first fight.” He took a deep breath. “I remember our last kiss, our last fight.”
“Cassidy.” Her voice was a whisper.
He grinned then. She saw it out of the corner of her eye. “I love that you’ve only ever called me Cassidy.”
She shrugged. “It was all anyone called you back then.”
“Which made sense when everyone knew me best by what was written on my jersey. But you’ve kept it up even with my soccer days long behind me. And you’ve got everyone else doing it, too. Nobody ever calls me Alex.”
Emma pressed her lips together, not wanting to admit that part of the reason she held on to the old name was because she was trying to hold on to the old memories, in some tiny, harmless way.
Except there was no such thing as harmless memories. Not when it came to the two of them.
He turned to face her, his familiar features shadowed. “Ask me what else I remember.”
She started to turn away, but his hand touched her arm.
“Ask me,” he commanded.
Emma shook her head, feeling both terrified and the most alive she’d felt in years.
He waited patiently until her eyes met his. “I remember us, Emma.”
Emma couldn’t look away.
In the light of day, it was easy for Emma to convince herself that she was an independent woman who didn’t need a man. Any man.
But at night, with nothing but the twinkling Manhattan skyline and Alex Cassidy in her vision?
It was harder.
Harder to remember that this was the man who’d once left her standing all alone in a very puffy white dress.
And harder to forget that being in this man’s arms had once been the best part of her day.
The best part of her life.
She told herself to move. To run. But his eyes held her still.
He moved closer and slipped an arm around her, his hand finding the small of her back.
“You used to love it when I put my hand here.” Cassidy’s voice was rough.
She lifted her chin slightly. “Did I? Must have blocked that out.” But the way the heat from his palm branded her made the lie come out just a little bit breathlessly.
His hand pressed, pulling her closer until there was nothing between them but their stormy past. “You sure about that?”
“Yup,” she said, her eyes looking anywhere but his. “You’re utterly forgettable.”
His other hand found her chin, his fingers lifting her face to his. “Prove it.”
Emma’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes found his mouth, which was now just inches away from hers.
He stepped even closer, and Emma couldn’t breathe.
He whispered her name and she closed her eyes. She could smell him, feel him…wanted him.
She wanted this. She wanted so badly to have his lips on hers again. To remember how it had felt to be in his arms.
To remember how it felt to be loved and cherished.
Cherished.
Emma’s eyes flew open.
Cassidy had never cherished her. Not really. Not in the way that was lasting and real. He had walked away the second things got hard.
What am I doing?
It had taken her years to pick up the pieces after this man shattered her heart. She couldn’t do it again.
Wouldn’t do it again.
Emma stepped back.