“Did you think Billy Idol’s ‘White Wedding’ would endear me to your cause?” she said, knowing he knew it had.
“The first song was too obvious. And I know how much you love the unexpected,” he said. “Besides...” He looked at a nearby table topped with an ornate haunted-house style candelabra, flickering in the night. “I’ve seen the video. ‘White Wedding’ seemed appropriate, given our current setting.”
“Hunter—”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he interrupted firmly, his eyes intense.
Her heart knocked faster, begging to be set free from its self-imposed cage, and panic squeezed Carly’s chest. “Too little, too late,” she said. “Before the last show I was hoping you’d turn up and say you’d changed your mind. That you trusted me and didn’t need any proof beyond your belief in me.” She stared at him, dwelling on those painful days. “An apology would have meant something before you had evidence I was telling the truth.”
A host of emotions filtered across his face before landing on regret. “I know.”
With a single finger he touched her hand, and her heart rattled the bars of its pen. But she fought the weakness and her growing doubts as he went on.
“I’m hoping you’ll accept my apology anyway,” he said. “And I’d be even more pleased if you’d agree to marry me.”
Her throat ached as she fought back the tears and the overwhelming need to say yes. Good God, she was tired of crying. “Why should I?”
“Because I’d like a second chance.” Her throat closed over completely, and when she didn’t respond he continued. “I made a mistake,” he said, his voice harsh with emotion. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
“I know you do,” she said. “But Hunter—”
He opened his mouth to cut her off again, but Carly placed her fingers on his lips, stopping his words.
Shifting her gaze between two beautiful slate-blue eyes, she said in a low voice, “I can’t live my life walking on eggshells, worrying that I might do or say something that shakes your trust in me again.” She ignored the intense heat in his gaze and the feel of his lips, the unyielding softness that was oh, so uniquely Hunter. Her chest caught, and breathing became difficult. She dropped her arm, gathering the courage to continue. “All because you can’t move on.”
“I can,” he fired off in a low voice. He shifted closer, towering over her, his tone softening. “Give me a second chance to prove it.”
She still hadn’t heard a good enough reason. “Why should I?” she repeated.
His words tumbled out. “Because I let my fear push you away,” he said gruffly. Face frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair and looked across the crowded terrace. The pause felt like forever, but when he finally turned back, his expression was frank. Raw.
The last barrier was gone.
“I knew you loved me,” he said, his words rough, heavy with the truth. “But I didn’t trust the feeling and I was too scared to believe you. I don’t deserve another chance. But I’m asking anyway,” he said. “Because I’m tired of being unhappy and alone. All because I’m a gutless coward.”
As if taking a moment to collect himself, he dropped his gaze to her bare shoulder and brushed her hair back, leaving a skitter of goosebumps. His hand settled between her shoulder blades, cupping her skin as if it planned to stay. He lifted his eyes to hers, and the brutal honesty stole what little composure she had left.
“And I think fear is driving your decisions now,” he said.
Her mind balked at the idea and she hiked her chin, forcing the tears away with a watery sniff. “I am not scared.”
The words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Several seconds ticked by, and though his gaze was intense there was a touch of humor mixed with a hint of desperation. His voice, however, was pure daring conviction. “Then marrying me shouldn’t be a problem.”
As his warm palm cradled her back, Carly’s heart thumped loudly in her chest, reinforcing the message that he could have called her a coward too, but hadn’t. Or that he could have insisted he was right, which he was.
Despite everything, she sent him a suspicious look. “Are you daring me to marry you?”
“The woman I love never walks away from a challenge.”
Her lips twisted into a self-directed frustrated frown. “Damn it,” she said in a low tone. “I hate that you’re right.”
The happy sounds of chatter filled the air as his eyes continued to scan hers in a question, stripping her to the emotional bone. Until he said, “So, Carly Wolfe, which would you rather have?” Despite the words, in spite of the teasing light in his eyes, his tone was serious. “A life with me, learning how to do love right, or an endless succession of singing break-up telegrams?”