Page 255 of Off Limits: The Firsts
Those two words knock the wind from his sails. His shoulders sag, and he roughs a hand through his hair before releasing an audible sigh. “Em . . .”
“I don’t need a hero,” I explain, thinking of all the times he had talked about someday being like his dad, a hero who saves everyone from everything.
“No one said you did.” The gold in his eyes burns bright as his temper surfaces. “I’m confused. Did I do something to offend you? Did I . . . Christ, never mind. Nothing’s worth it if it’s this much work. Nice seeing you again, Em. Have a nice life.”
“No. Wait,” I say against my better judgment, causing him to stop in the doorway and face me.
Sadness fuses with the anger in his eyes, and the expression on his face mirrors everything I feel but can’t express.
“Am I staying or going, Em? You decide.”
Words don’t come, and we stare at each other for a few moments before he nods in resignation and leaves.
The front door shuts. Leo turns the music louder outside as Desi begins swinging her hips, but I remain in the kitchen with my chest hurting and my perfectly crafted world spinning off its axis. Even the half eaten cheesecake on the counter holds no appeal to me.
A part of me wants to chase after him and apologize. I was more than rude, and he deserves better. The other part of me has finally recognized the emotion I was feeling but couldn’t put a finger on. It’s fear.
I’m scared to death.
Grant scares me.
Out of habit, I run a hand over the inside of my arm and feel the ridges there. The reminders that fear can be overcome.
Drawing in a fortifying breath, I debate whether I should go back outside, drink some more wine, and waste the rest of the night away.
Something tells me that just might exacerbate the traitorous feelings I’m having. Alcohol, Grant, and fear are a dangerous combination that just might jostle things I’ve long forgotten and never want to remember again.
I’ve spent the last twenty years shutting myself off from all emotion—all feelings when it comes to anyone of the opposite sex—and in a span of one week’s time, I’ve let Grant change that.
My black-and-white world has color seeping into its edges.
I love and hate it all at the same time.
It makes me feel alive inside when, until now, I hadn’t realized I had been dead.
“None for me. Thank you, though.” I put my hand up to cover my glass as Chris tries to pour wine into it. Again.
“C’mon, Em. Just because we’re working, doesn’t mean we can’t relax some and have a drink.”
His cologne overpowers the scent of food in the restaurant, and there’s a soft whistle in his nose every time he inhales. I try not to focus on it, but now that I’ve heard it, I can’t unhear it.
“Where were we?” I clear my throat and lift the profit and loss statement we were talking about before the waiter came with the bottle of wine. This, of course, came after the three glasses he had already had.
“I forget. Where exactly were we?” he says in a playful voice as he scoots closer so we’re shoulder to shoulder. Again.
Trying the same move I’ve done several times tonight already, I shift in my seat to put some distance between us. When I do, Chris reaches out and puts his hand over mine.
Alarm bells sound off in my head, but I do my best to appear unaffected. It isn’t the first time a man has tried to flirt with me when I didn’t encourage it.
I nonchalantly pull my hand out from under his to pick up the income statement. “We were talking about last year’s net income of Blue Skies compared to the proposed loan amount.”
“Yes, we were.” He reaches across me to pick up an untouched glass of water, his elbow grazes against my breasts. I chock it up to being an accident, but I don’t like it one bit. “But I think it’s better suited if we talk about you and me.”
“What about you and me?” I ask, befuddled where this conversation is going.
“You know I’m the only loan officer in town who would take a chance on you, right?” His voice is low, and he’s so close that I can smell the wine on his breath.
“Yes, and as I’ve said before, I appreciate that.”
