At the contact, we both froze, and I held my breath, waiting for him to realize he was touching me and then snatch it away like I was again made of fire.
My pulse quickened as his left hand came toward my face ever so slowly. My lungs burned, pleading for oxygen, but there was none to be found in the small space between us.
“Bowen,” I managed to whisper.
Dear God, he was going to kiss me.
He’d told me his fiancée was dead, and now he was going to kiss me. The whiplash with this man was not for the faint of heart. Worse, I didn’t know what it said about me, but I was going to let him. Right there in my office. Still holding a cactus, I was going to let him do whatever the hell he—
He picked a stick from my hair.
The teasing smile tipped one side of his mouth. “I think you’re sprouting branches.”
“It’s mulch,” I replied breathily, even to my own ears.
He squinted one eye. “You take this plant thing pretty serious, huh?”
Okay, yes. That was a much better answer than admitting I’d gotten stuck under a house. “Very, very seriously.”
He smiled, bright and white. It was even more attractive up close. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“For what?”
“What do you mean for what?”
“I mean, yesterday, you told me you can’t. I respected it then. But I get it more than ever now. I never should have put you in that position.”
“Nope. Don’t do that.” He gave my hip another firm squeeze. “You don’t get to hijack my apology. Just listen.”
He was too close for me to listen. Too close not to read into every single move he made. And even knowing that he was about to let me down easy all over again, he was too damn close for me to not want more.
I needed space from this man so I could feel like a decent, empathetic human being again. “Any chance I can put Quincy down first?”
His lips twitched. “Quincy the cactus?”
I shrugged. “It feels right.”
His eyes darkened, his smile slipping away as he leaned in close. “It does, doesn’t it?”
Chills exploded across my skin and my mouth dried. It was not fair that he had that kind of effect on me when I was so obviously trying to be respectful of his situation. Okay, maybe not that respectful. I arched my back, causing my breasts to brush his chest.
What? Hell was probably more fun anyway.
He let out a low growl before thankfully—and unfortunately—backing away. “Right. Okay. Talk first.”
First?
I was more intrigued by what came second.
I set Quincy on Amber’s desk. I’d move him to my office later. Cacti weren’t really my thing, but this one might give Margret a run for her money as my new favorite. “I’m listening.”
He cleared his throat. “I think I may have misspoken yesterday when I told you that I can’t do this with you. I thought about it—you—a lot last night and I’ve come to the conclusion that the better statement is I don’t know how to do this.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You have to understand, my life has been a maze of tragedy for the last year or so. If I’m being honest, I lost my fiancée long before the plane crash, but in a lot of ways, I’m standing in that maze, still searching for a way out. Yesterday, as you drove away, I realized that locking the door didn’t keep you out as much as it just kept me inside that much longer.”
My chest ached for him, and I fought the urge to reach out and touch him in a way that couldn’t possibly ease his pain. My hands never moved, but he must have sensed my intentions because he offered me a sad smile and lifted one long finger in the air, asking for me to wait.
“You don’t know me,” he said, “but I’m asking for a chance to change that. Just dinner. Drinks. Let me run you off the good old-fashioned way with riveting conversation of tax law and military history. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But I have too many regrets in my life to allow a missed opportunity with you to become another.” He smiled shyly, so completely unlike any version of Bowen I’d seen before. “So, I guess, long story short: Would you like to…go on a date with me?”
I stared at him, wondering what kind of horrors lurked in the shadows of his maze. It wasn’t my place to ask him. Not now. Not yet.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I slanted my head. “So, that’s it? That’s your sales pitch? Tragedy, mazes, and military history?”
“I’m afraid so.” He smirked, rocking from heel to toe. “Oh, and I can do whatever kind of accounting it was you needed help with.”
