Page 37 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
This was his excuse? That his leaving had been for my own good?
Men had been making decisions on my behalf my whole life. Decisions without communication. Always saying afterward that it was for the best and never once bothering to ask how I felt.
“I never meant to hurt you, Emmy,” he said. “But you weren’t safe with me. Not back then. They would have come after you and your money. And I couldn’t risk your life. I wouldn’t risk having you killed like my mother. So I left.”
I closed my eyes and let the tears fall down my cheeks.
I didn’t want this explanation. I wanted a different one.
One where he had been forced out of the hotel room at gunpoint and held prisoner for nine years. An explanation like that would have made the ache in my heart go away. Instead, his choice to leave without talking to me made it hurt even worse.
He knelt next to my feet before setting aside my whiskey and taking my hands in his. “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry, Emmy,” he whispered, peppering my hands with kisses.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I asked. “You could have told me back then. We could have worked something out.”
“Because I knew that if I looked into your eyes again, I would never let you go. And you were too good for that life. You needed someone who could give you so much more than I ever could.”
He had me completely confused. If I was too good for his life, then why had he been pressing so hard this week? Why did he say that my heart still belonged to him? Just minutes ago, he had declared I was his and he was mine.
“Then what was this past week about? Your chance?” I asked. “I don’t understand how I was too good for you back then—which I wasn’t, by the way—but now everything is different.”
His hazel eyes stared deeply into mine. “You’ve always had my heart, Emmy. I know I fucked up by leaving but I thought it was my only choice. It took me a long time to realize I had other options. And by then, I was afraid it was too late. That you’d moved on with your life. But the moment I saw you, I knew I had a chance to make it right. No man can ever make you happy because no other woman will ever make me whole. We’re it for each other.”
As good as those words sounded, and felt, he was wrong. It was too late.
“Take me home,” I ordered and stood from the chair, forcing him out of my space.
He stood with me but before I could turn away, his hands framed my face and turned up my chin so I was forced to look at him. His eyebrows were pulled together. Clearly he had, expected a much different reaction to his speech.
“Take me home,” I said.
“No.” His lips crashed into mine before I could protest. They were firm and determined. His tongue stroked my lower lip until I finally opened for him. Then it was inside, sliding against my own as he took control.
My hands latched onto his flannel shirt so I wouldn’t fall down on my shaking knees.
The past came flooding back as I remembered how amazing it was to kiss Nick. How he was the only man that could make me ignite in seconds.
Our lips moved frantically back and forth as we erased nine years of history and went back in time. Right now, it was just us.
His hands traveled down my face, down my body, rubbing and squeezing down my sides. When they reached my hips, his fingers gripped my flesh tightly and he lifted me off my feet. My legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he crushed me to his chiseled body. One of his arms banded around my lower back while the other kneaded my ass.
He carried me backward but I didn’t open my eyes. All I could focus on was my mouth fused to his. The feel of his tongue sliding against mine. My throbbing core pressed firmly against the hardness in his jeans.
My back hit a wall, and as Nick’s mouth traveled down my neck, I opened my eyes. He had carried me to a wall directly across from one of the cabin’s large front windows. I could see his back in our reflection and my legs around his waist.
On my feet were a pair of Sperry duck boots. The tan leather contrasted brightly against the dark blue of Nick’s jeans.
Logan had given me these boots before I’d moved. He had told me to wear them so my feet wouldn’t get cold. He knew my feet were always cold.
Ice coursed through my veins. Here I was, making out with another man, when just hours ago I had told Logan that I loved him. Which I did.
“Stop,” I said and unwrapped my arms and legs from Nick. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I’m not this person.”
“What? What’s wrong, Emmy?” Nick asked.
“What’s wrong? I have a boyfriend! That is what’s wrong! I need to go.” Pushing my way around him, I ran to the door and jerked on my coat.
“Emmy,” Nick started but I closed my eyes and furiously shook my head.
