“Shh,” he said, kissing her. “I want to look at you, Malin. Can you let me just look at you?”
She nodded and stretched her body out on the soft throw, closing her eyes as the sun combined with his gaze heated her skin.
“Do you know what you do to me?” he asked. “How you make me feel? How my body reacts to yours?”
She tried to push away the pain of wanting to ask him why he hadn’t chosen her, then. Why hadn’t she been enough to keep him there that night?
The hurt and anguish she felt were so close to the surface that they burned her from the inside out. She felt too exposed. The sun no longer felt warm; it hurt. Everything hurt.
She opened her eyes, ready to flee, and Dutch was studying her. He reached out and grabbed her nape, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“What just happened?” he asked.
Malin shook her head.
“Talk to me. What. Just. Happened?” His voice was firm, but he didn’t raise it.
“I can’t.”
“What?”
“I can’t forget.”
“What brought it back to you now?”
“Everything you said,” she cried. “Why wasn’t I enough, Dutch?”
“You were. You always were. I was too stupid to see it.”
This time she wrenched away from him, stood, and ran up the stairs, not bothering to grab her clothes. She shut the door of the small bedroom that was her sanctuary when being with Dutch became too much for her fragile heart to handle. She stood with her back against the door and felt the chill of her tears as they trailed down her naked body.
8
Dutch sat on the sofa and looked out at the bay. Maybe he was wrong not to go after Malin, but what could he say that he hadn’t said before. Could he keep apologizing? To him, doing so would begin to feel insincere. He was sorry, but he couldn’t go back and change what he’d done. It sucked. He was an asshole. But would backing away from her, never seeing her again, help heal Malin’s heart more than being here, trying his best to show her how much he cared?
He leaned forward with his head in his hands, feeling more unsure of himself than he ever remembered in his life. He wasn’t the kind of man who second-guessed his decisions. Once he came to one, he stuck by it until the circumstances changed enough for him to reconsider the course he was on.
Was that the case now? Was there a better way for him to get through to Malin? Walking away from her now wasn’t something he could do, but would a different approach be better?
He shook his head. And what approach would that be? He was so far out of his element with her, he didn’t know if there was an “approach.” He just wanted to be with her. Sure, he needed to figure out what she’d gotten herself into with this mission because, whatever it was, it was bad enough for her to believe the CIA would burn her. But that wasn’t the main reason he was here. He may have thought it was when they were on the plane, flying back from Bagram, but now he knew better.
* * *
The secrets Malin was keeping, served as an excuse for him to take her away, spend time with her, get her to forgive him, and give him another chance. What if he told her exactly that? Would it help if he just laid it all out in front of her?
Instead of trying to manipulate Malin into telling him things she wasn’t ready to hear, what if he was just honest?
He walked up the stairs to the room he knew she sequestered herself in, and knocked.
From the sound of his knuckles on the hollow door, he could tell she was standing against it.
“Malin, baby, can we talk? There are things I need to tell you.”
“Not now, Dutch.”
“Yeah, now. We need to do this. For both of us. Put some clothes on and come downstairs when you’re ready.”
Dutch went back to the kitchen not knowing what to do while he waited for her to come out.