Looking Inside

Blinking back tears, she stepped closer to the window and placed her hand on the cold pane. She soaked in the vision, incredulous. He’d put up his Christmas tree in his bedroom.

For her. It had to have been for her.

She made out a slight movement just to the right of the large tree. In the soft glow of the lights, she made out his tall figure. Her heart did a double beat at seeing him step out of the shadows. He placed his hand on the window, his position mirroring hers.

Trey.

The connection she felt with him in that moment seemed to cut down to her very bones. It was a feeling that surpassed the empty space between them, a sensation that canceled out all their previous selfish, clueless motivations. At that moment, she saw him clearly. And she saw herself, as he saw her, in all her flawed, layered, bewildering complexity.

And the truth was, she liked what she imagined she saw through his eyes.

She inhaled shakily as relief swept through her, cold and refreshing as a sluicing stream.

He wasn’t seeing something false when he looked at her. Even when she’d convinced herself she’d been playing a part, he’d seen her truly. What he’d done for her, putting up that Christmas tree for her to see because she’d told him she’d been too grief-stricken to do it for herself: those weren’t the actions of a man who was interested in her just for sex, or for her similarity to her sister, or for any other reason but one.

He cared about her—Eleanor.

She lifted her hand and gave a gesture of hopeful beckoning. The tension level of his body seemed to break slightly, and she saw him nod once before he turned to leave the room.

TWENTY-FIVE

She’d never been as anxious as she was when she heard his knock on her front door. She felt chilled and prickly with nerves. Hope and uncertainty mingled in her awareness. She kept thinking about the Christmas tree he’d put up for her to view. It’d been the sweetest gift. It took her breath away.

Her hand shook as she turned the knob.

She paused holding open the door, soaking in the image of him as if she were starved and his image could feed her. He wore a pair of faded jeans that fit his narrow hips and long legs with casual, sexy perfection and a striped button-down. His black peacoat was unbuttoned, as if he hadn’t bothered fastening it when she’d signaled for him to come over to her condo.

His blue eyes seemed alight as they moved over her and finally latched on her face. Her mouth opened. She felt so much, but she didn’t know what to say. He frowned and stepped across the threshold. He pushed her into the hallway and let the door slam shut behind them. His big hands cradled her jaw, and then he was kissing her with that honest, blatant hunger that she loved, and that heated her to the very core of her being.

“I thought you agreed the awkwardness had to stop between us,” he growled softly next to her lips a moment later. His mouth moved, capturing a teardrop that had fallen down her cheek.

“Thank you for putting the Christmas tree there,” she murmured shakily.

“I put it up for you. Me. Not my maid.”

“It’s so pretty. That was so sweet of you.”

His eyes flashed. “I’d give you much more,” he said gruffly. “If you’d let me, Eleanor.”

She nodded toward the living room. “Come and sit down?” she asked. “I have something I want to tell you.”

His face went carefully blank at that, but he followed her into the living room. They sat down together on the couch, a few inches separating them. She tried to gather her words as the silence pressed down on her eardrums.

“I owe you an apology,” she finally said, staring at her hands resting on her thighs.

“Why?”

“For not talking to you for more than a week.” She swallowed thickly. “But for more than that.” She forced herself to meet his stare. “I’ve been so afraid since we started sleeping together that you’d find out the truth about me.”

“What truth is that?” he asked, his eyebrows slanting.

“That I’m not really daring or super confident or exciting,” she said in a small voice. “That I was putting on an act in order to get your attention.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “And like you’ve said before, I was pretty mercenary about doing it. It was incredibly selfish.” Shame slinked into her awareness. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his blazing stare. “My mother said she thought I was acting out my grief about Caddy. That I was trying to be like her, to fill the void of Caddy being gone.”

“Is that true?” he asked. “You seduced me out of grief?”

“No,” she whispered, meeting his stare even though tears had gathered in her eyes. “I don’t think it is. Not primarily anyway. When Caddy was dying—” She gasped softly and paused for a few seconds, gathering herself. “She told me she didn’t have any regrets. That she’d lived each day to its fullest. She asked me to try to do that with my life, to live my passion.” She sniffed and wiped an errant tear off her cheek. “And I did,” she said, meeting Trey’s stare. “Ever since I first saw you over a year ago, you became the target of my passion. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I would have done anything”—her voice broke, and she inhaled— “to be with you. So I hatched up this plan to seduce you. I wouldn’t let myself think about what would happen after I did it. It was single-minded of me, and selfish, and for that, I’m sorry. I refused to examine my motivations, so I didn’t understand them.”

“Do you now?”