“Wait—don’t hang up. Now that you know your father didn’t really reject you all those years, are you willing to be in the wedding?”
Laurie ignored the question. “Tell Tyrone...” She swallowed dry air. “Tell my father I’m on a business trip, but I’ll call him next week when I get home.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him.” Her tone picked up, like she’d heard the best news ever. “I’m sorry, Laurie. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know.” But you did.
The moment Laurie opened her door, Finn knew something was wrong. He could read it in the slump of her shoulders, the dullness in her eyes.
“Hi.” She stepped back, and he followed her inside the hotel room. She picked up her purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder.
“I thought we’d walk downstairs for the news conference.” He tilted his head, trying to catch her gaze. “Unless you’re not up to it.”
“I’m ready.” Her eyes looked through him like he wasn’t there.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, in a dead tone. “I guess I’m tired.”
“You were tired an hour ago when I dropped you off. This is way more than tired.”
Her chin lifted, the first sign of a spark since he’d arrived. “When did you become an expert on reading women?”
“Not women… just you. And believe me, I’m no expert. Most of the time, you read like a foreign language.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “French?”
“No, I’m pretty good at French. I’d say, most of the time, you’re not even written in the same alphabet. Maybe Cantonese. Or Russian.”
He finally coaxed a smile, but it disappeared so fast he thought he’d imagined it.
“We should be going,” she said, nodding toward the door behind him.
The pain was there, under the surface, like a raw wound that had barely crusted over. It burned inside his chest. He stood there, helpless, like he was watching her drown. On impulse, he opened his arms.
When she fell against him, the wound ripped open. Her tears drenched his shirt, but he didn’t care. He shared her pain without words, willing her to take what she needed from him. He didn’t give a thought to the implications—whether she would make the wrong assumptions. Nothing mattered but holding her until he absorbed every ounce of hurt. He tightened the circle of his arms… she had to know she was safe.
When her tears began to subside, he pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathing in her essence. Then he kissed her forehead… gentle, tender, as if she were made of glass. Her chin tilted up, and she gazed at him, pupils dilated so wide they disappeared in the pools of dark chocolate. Her heart throbbed against his chest, an echo of his own.
Her lips parted, inviting him to taste her. Resisting the pull, he turned his face to kiss along the angle of her jaw. His conscience laughed at him. Did he really believe kissing her face would be less reckless than joining their lips? He’d already passed the line of friendship—he might as well let his lips have their fill.
Ignoring the taunt, he avoided the temptation of her mouth, planting small kisses around her ear. Her chin lifted, granting him access to her neck. His lips t
railed down, settling in the soft place where her blood pulsed madly.
This has to stop.
He froze, his forehead against her cheek, his breaths coming in short pants.
“Why are you stopping?” she murmured, as her fingers slid through the back of his hair, sending tingles down his spine.
“We can’t kiss,” he choked, straightening and turning his head away. “We shouldn’t.”
Her hands crept behind his head and pulled his face down to hers. Like magnets, their mouths sprang together—her lips so soft, yet so responsive. Warmth curled in his gut and spread through every vessel in his body. He claimed her lips, but wanted more. No, he needed more. He couldn’t get enough of her.
“I love you,” she murmured.
She loves me! I’ve found my soulmate!