He blows out a breath. The tension between us and the stress of the evening are visible in the way he holds himself.
“Wade, I can go,” I say as a host of anxiety rears its head. “This isn’t necessary.”
His eyes snap to mine. “No. Stay. Please.”
Why?
I walk toward the window and pretend to be engrossed in his yard. In reality, I just don’t want to be engrossed in him.
“Dara?”
The sound of his voice so close to me makes me jump. I clutch my heart and spin around, nearly bumping into him.
He’s closer than I realized—only a couple of steps behind me. The look on his face is unreadable.
“Thank you for joining me tonight at the wedding,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. But embedded in his tone is something else that I’ve never heard in it—uncertainty.
“I don’t think I really gave you much choice.”
His weight shifts. “I always have a choice, as do you.”
What’s he saying?
He runs a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry that I made this weird between us,” I say. “Can I blame the champagne?”
He searches my eyes like his life depends on finding something hidden in their depths. I can almost feel his gaze percolating all the way to the bottom of my soul, sifting through the debris caused by the events of my life.
Finally, he leans back. Resolution is awash on his face.
“I hope that you wouldn’t blame anything.” He forces a swallow. “I hope that you’d say you meant the things you said and that you would stand by them like the woman you are.”
My lips part as I lug oxygen as ladylike as I can into my body. My heart pounds in my chest. I look at Wade as he looks at me and try desperately not to react.
He stands tall in front of me and doesn’t move. He leaves himself open for me to inspect, to peruse—for me to understand.
I want to reach out and touch the side of his face, to get more of the contact that we had tonight. But I’m afraid to, despite the slight opening he might have just given me. Might have. Because I’m still unsure.
“Honestly,” I say, “the champagne probably is the reason that I was so … forward. But did I mean what I said in my moment of glory?” I breathe deeply. “Yes. I did.”
I lift my chin and leave myself open for his inspection. If he wants to try to understand me, I’ll give him the chance.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, biting his bottom lip. He’s deciding how to proceed with this conversation, and that’s fine with me. I have no interest in leading this discussion.
I’ve said enough.
He releases his lip before licking it. “I had a really nice time tonight, and I’m glad that you came. I was pretty pissed at Holt when he invited you, but it worked out.”
“It worked out?” I raise a brow. “I’m glad.”
Sarcasm is written all over my words to hide my embarrassment.
“I’m attempting to share my feelings with you,” he says. “Can we not pick my words apart?”
“Okay,” I say, contemplating his point. “I’ll give you that. But I also know you’re a wizard—I heard someone say that tonight—so my expectations of your linguistics are a bit higher than normal.”
He sighs. “The thought of you next to me for an entire evening was initially disturbing, but it was the highlight of my night.” He raises both brows. “Better?”
“Slightly.”
Wade rolls his eyes.
“So did you bring me here to tell me you were wrong?” I ask, holding his gaze. “I’m not mad about it, if that’s what this is. Just checking. And there are much, much simpler ways of doing that than … whatever you’re doing.”
“You really are insufferable.”
I shrug. “You’ve managed to tolerate me pretty well so far.”
“I’ve only had you in small doses.”
The sentence is small, compact, and it says very little on the surface. But when I couple it with the way he looks at me, it says a hell of a lot more.
“Whose fault is that?” I ask, gently poking to see if I’m reading too much into the moment or … if I’m right.
I steady myself.
He moseys toward me, erasing most of what little space was left between us.
I am right.
In this setting—in his home that’s clearly his space—in the low light at the late hour … Wade Mason is amplified to the nth degree.
He’s larger, sexier, more mysterious. I’m not sure what that means for me, but I think I’m about to find out.
Breathe, Dara.
“You said you wanted me to touch you tonight,” he says.
It’s more of a question than a statement, and it sends a spark to my core. My stomach clenches as I watch a transformation occur in his green eyes. As the color deepens, so do the depths of desire. The hesitation in his face is now gone. In its place is a man who is tired of playing games.