They stood there for a long moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, with an undercurrent of desire simmering between them and a world of memories tethering them together.
“I’m really glad you agreed to go out with me tonight.”
“As friends,” she reminded him, but her heart didn’t sound completely behind it. She turned her focus to the gift and ran her hands along the flat top. “It feels substantial.” Her delicate fingers trailed the edge of the wrapping paper. “The paper is beautiful.”
He’d always loved watching Reese open gifts. Most people were so excited to see what was inside the wrapping that they tore it open—but while that was how Reese used to act toward him, when it came to actual gifts, she was all about savoring the moment. Unless, of course, she was giving the gift. Then she was like a kid trying to hold in a secret.
“I thought you might like it.” He’d bought the gift wrap in New York a few years back, one of the many times he’d seen something and known Reese would love it. When he’d gone back to New York to pack his things and move to the island, he’d been surprised by how many items he’d bought over the years with her in mind.
She carefully lifted the tape and unfolded the edges of the wrapping paper, exposing the beautiful wooden box inside.
“Trent.” Her wide eyes met his. “This is exquisite, but a Caran D’Ache wooden box set of aquarelle pencils? I can’t accept this.” She held the box out to him.
He gently pushed it closer to her. “You can, and you should. When I saw your drawing this morning, I could practically smell the flowers. They deserve to be as vibrant as you imagine them.” He couldn’t resist touching her again, and covered her hand with his.
“But…” She moved a little closer. “You shouldn’t be buying me things.”
“Why not?” His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and she squeezed his fingers as she’d done the other night in the parking lot.
“Because. I’m…You’re…”
“We’re, isn’t that what you mean?” There was no denying the sparks between them. “Whether I buy you a gift or not doesn’t diminish the strength of our connection.”
He stepped closer, and she made a little whimpering sound.
“Trent,” she whispered, before clearing her throat and adding in a stronger voice, “we have to go. I promised Tami I’d go look at her work.”
It took every ounce of self-control to nod and move away from her rather than pull her into his arms. But when he couldn’t shift more than an inch away, he realized she had hooked her finger into the pocket of his jeans, keeping him close.
The look in her eyes when she realized it, too, told him that she’d surprised herself with the move as much as she’d surprised him.
But despite his desire to press his body to hers and kiss her until neither of them could remember anything but how good they made each other feel, he was determined not to go too fast, or he’d be taking a chance of messing things up again with Reese.
He wrapped his hand around hers and unhooked her finger from his waistband, then kissed her palm. “Shall we?”
Her lips parted, as if he were asking her if she wanted to go into the bedroom—and the heat in her eyes told him she was considering it.
Sweet Lord, trying to keep his hands off of her so that they could talk was shaping up to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. “Leave, I mean. To see your friend.”
“Yes.” She shook her head as if she were clearing her thoughts. “We should leave before we end up replaying history.” She walked into the cozy living room, where she grabbed her purse and a book off of a coffee table made from driftwood and glass. “Do you mind if we stop by Bay’s Edge on the way? I promised to drop off a book for a friend.”
“Sure,” he answered, wondering who her friend was. He’d heard that she worked with the residents of the care facility and knew they all had to be just as much in love with her as he was.
Everything in her house told of the creative and interesting woman Reese was, from the Tibetan peace flags that hung over the fireplace to the double Papasan chair beside the soft couch and the passionate, emotional paintings she’d hung on the walls. He saw her in every one of them. He could so easily imagine how it would have been if they’d lived here together. Reese would have walked barefoot through the cottage in the mornings, sunk into the Papasan chair, then patted it and asked him to join her. And he would have appreciated every single second with her in his arms.