I wanted to think I had something to do with his change. That somehow, in some way, I had shown him love was possible. Maybe not with me, but it was an emotion he was capable of giving and receiving. He didn’t give himself enough credit, though.
I wasn’t sure when I realized I had fallen in love with him. The seed might have been planted on our wedding day and it grew every time he shed a bit more of his caustic, hurtful nature. Every real smile and easy laugh watered the sentiment, making it stronger. Each kind act toward Penny, one of the Gavins, or me, had fed the fledgling emotion until it took hold so tight I knew it would never change.
The day Jenna showed up was the day I knew I loved him. The headache that plagued him all day, made him unusually vulnerable. He not only allowed my care, he seemed to enjoy it. His teasing had been sweet and funny, bordering on affectionate. When he came to bed, he had shown a different side to his character. His voice had been a low hum in the dark as he comforted me, his apologies rang sincere as he asked for forgiveness for the way he had treated me in the past. Forgiveness I granted—that I had granted days, maybe weeks, before he had asked for it. Then he drew me close and made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t since my parents died. I slept content and warm in his embrace.
The next morning, I had seen yet another side—his sexy, funny side. The way he reacted to waking up entwined together; the amusing way he ordered Jenna out of the room, kissing me until I was breathless. His passion simmered below the surface, his voice low and raspy from sleep. His comment about expanding our boundaries made my heart race, and I knew for the first time in my life, I was falling in love.
Sadly, though, I knew he would never change enough to allow my love. That he would never want my love. We had a truce. To his shock, and mine, we became friends. His insults were now teasing, and his dismissive attitude gone. However, I knew that was all I was to him. A friend—a collaborator.
I sighed as I dug my toes deeper into the cooling sand. I would have to go inside soon. Once the sun set, it grew colder, and I was already a little chilled, even with a jacket on. I knew I would pass another night pacing and rambling around the small cottage. Chances were I would end up back on the beach, bundled up, walking to try to exhaust myself so I could fall into a restless, unsatisfying sleep. Even in my slumber, I couldn’t escape my thoughts. Asleep or awake, they were filled with him.
Richard.
My eyes burned as I thought of how he had taken care of me when Penny died. How he acted as though I would shatter like glass if he spoke too loud. When he had carried me to his bed, intent on comforting me, I already knew I had to leave him. I couldn’t hide the love I felt much longer. I couldn’t stand the thought of watching his face morph into that cold, haughty mask he used to cover his true self as he dismissed my confession—because he would.
Until he could love himself, he could never love anyone. Not even me.
Impatiently, I brushed the tears away, hugging my knees tight to my chest.
I had given him the one gift I had left—myself. It was all I had, and in truth, I was being selfish. I wanted to feel him. To have him possess my body and be able to keep that memory as the one I held the tightest. It was still painful to think of, but I knew as time passed, eventually the edges would soften and wilt, and I would be able to smile thinking of the passion. Remembering how his mouth felt on mine. The way our bodies joined perfectly, the warmth of his form surrounding mine, and the way his voice sounded as he groaned out my name.
Unable to take the barrage of memories, I stifled a sob and stood up, brushing off my jeans. Turning, I stopped, frozen. Standing in the waning light, tall and stern, hands buried in his coat pockets, staring at me, with an unfathomable expression, was Richard.
RICHARD
She was too thin again. Even with a jacket on, it was evident. Her appetite had been non-existent after Penny passed, and in the few days we’d been apart, I knew she wasn’t eating. She was suffering as much as me.
When I arrived at the small cluster of cottages, I parked far enough away I wouldn’t alert her to my presence if she was, indeed, there. Walking onto the beach, I spied her right away, a small, huddled mass on the sand, staring into the horizon. She looked lost and tiny, and the need to go to her, lift her into my arms and refuse to let her go, was strong. I had never felt anything that intense until today. However, I resisted, knowing I needed to approach her cautiously. She had run once, and I didn’t want her running again.