Page 69 of Tempt
I looked at him. “You know what I mean.”
He smiled—barely. “Sorry. I know what you mean.”
“I just—I can’t understand why it’s so hard for us to do what we know is right. We are not bad people. So why are we acting like it?”
“I think it’s complicated.”
“But it shouldn’t be,” I said heatedly, shaking my head. “We’remakingit complicated. Every time we give in to this—this—whatever it is, we’re making things worse.” To my chagrin, my eyes filled with tears. “How can something that makes me feel so good also make me feel so bad?”
“Hey. Come here.” Zach pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me. I let him envelop me in his masculine warmth, pressing close to his firm, broad chest. I wasn’t a child, but Zach had a way of making me feel cosseted and safe when he held me like this.
In fact, the pure bliss of it set off an alarm in my head, and I tried to pull away. Zach just held me tighter.
“There’s nothing wrong withus,” he said. “It’s just everything outside that door that’s the problem.”
“I know. And when we’re together, I get so carried away, I convince myself nothing out there matters. But it does.”
“It does,” he agreed.
“That’s why I should tell you to go now, before someone sees your car on the street.”
“And it’s why I would leave if you asked.”
I closed my eyes. “What if I don’t ask?”
“Then I would stay.”
“God. I feel like I have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The angel is telling me to say goodnight.”
“And the devil?”
“The devil says all our problems would be solved if I just move my car out of the garage and you pulled yours in.”
“I’m not sure that solves all our problems, but it takes care of the immediate one.”
I pressed my cheek to his chest, tucking my head beneath his chin. “Since you’re already here tonight, maybe you could just stay. And in the morning, we’ll say goodbye and part as friends.”
“I’ll move both cars,” he said. “Where are your keys?”
* * *
“Did you always want to be a SEAL?” I asked, tucked in the crook of his arm. I had no idea what time it was—somewhere in the middle of the night—but we were post-round two, finally cooled off enough to pull the covers up to our chests.
“I always wanted to fight bad guys,” he said.
“And did you?” I ran my fingers along the scar on his right arm.
“Yes.”
“What do you think gave you such a strong sense of justice? Or was it just that you wanted to be a badass in uniform?”
He didn’t answer right away. “It was losing my sister.”
I stopped moving my hand on his arm. “Poppy, right?”
“Right.” The room seemed even more silent. “It was my fault.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
