Page 60 of Worth the Risk

There’s hurt in her eyes I can’t ignore this time. The desire to kiss her is so overwhelming that I hate myself for it.

Is she telling the truth? I don’t know.

All I know is she’s standing before me not afraid to go toe-to-toe with me, which makes me think she’s telling me the truth. If this were only about her and her wants, then why is she still here fighting with me? Wouldn’t she have bolted at the first sign of conflict?

Back away, Gray.

I take a step toward her.

“We can’t do this,” I murmur as I reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. Wanting to touch her. Needing to. Hating myself for giving in to her.

“Whoever hurt you, she really did a number on you, didn’t she?” I shake my head to reject her words. “I’m not her, Grayson. I’m not Claire.” Her voice is soft—tentative and yet somehow resolute. But my face must reflect my surprise. “I ran into Cathy Clementine today. She’s the one who told me about the fight and Luke, and she gave me the gist of what Claire did to you and Luke, and there’s nothing more I can say about it other than I’m sorry . . . but I’m not her.”

I hear her. I know she’s right. Yet, I don’t trust myself to believe it just yet. “I know.”

Our eyes hold in that suspended state just before a kiss when you know you’re going to do it but know you shouldn’t.

When I brush my lips against hers, it’s so different from the kisses we shared the other day. There’s no anger. There’s no retribution. There’s just my need to connect with someone—with her. There’s my need to feel like a man she wants rather than a man to fix her problems.

Her lips are soft. Her tongue is warm. And after her initial hesitation, when she moves into me, I know I’m so fucking screwed it isn’t even funny.

She tastes like heaven and hell. Like want and need. Like deception and desire.

My hands cup her cheeks, hold her head steady as I sip and take and taste in a slow and silent seduction of senses. Every part of me wants more in this dangerous hand of poker I know I can’t win.

But hell if I don’t want to go all in.

“Dad?” Luke’s voice calls from the top of the stairs. We freeze. My hands on her cheeks. My forehead resting against hers. Our breaths held. Cold water on a fire just lit.

I clear my throat. “Be right there.”

But we don’t move. It’s almost as if it’s the first time we haven’t been at odds and we don’t want to ruin it.

Either that or it’s regret dropping like a lead weight between us.

“We can’t do this.” It’s her that whispers it this time. It’s her telling me we need to take a step back. But neither of us moves. “This has to stop before it starts.”

This time she says the words and takes a step back. Her eyes well with tears I don’t understand, and her fingertips reach up to touch her lips.

Seconds tick.

Pass.

Stretch.

And then she skirts around me and walks out the door.

“This has to stop before it starts.”

I watch her back as she jogs down the steps and know that she misspoke.

It has already started.

“I forgot how crazy this town gets over the Harvest Festival,” I murmur to Rissa as I stare out our office window. Main Street has been transformed. There are two rows of booths lining the middle of the street, and strings of lights zigzag between the buildings with a small carnival for the kids set up at the far end of the street. It has a big slide. A maze made out of hay bales. Some rides that were brought in from San Francisco.

There was a palpable electricity in the atmosphere as I walked from the parking lot into the office. The hum of a community coming together to celebrate. The knowledge that everything would be closed tonight so everyone could participate in the only thing in this town that I remember loving doing.

“Crazy is an understatement.” She chuckles. “And to think the Chamber of Commerce has put up a booth down there promoting the contest . . . and one Grayson Malone.”