Cape Cod Promises (Love on Rockwell Island 2)

She put up one hand to stop him, clutching the table with the other as if she were bracing herself. “Please, Trent. Don’t do this. Not when we’re going to have to work together on this mural.”

But he couldn’t just give up. Not when it suddenly felt like giving up was exactly what he had done ten years ago. “There must be some things we can get out in the open.”

Her eyes roved over his face again, and he was almost positive that the wall she’d erected was starting to crumble away. He held his breath, waiting for her to finally talk to him—or at least to hear him out. But before either of those things happened, she turned away from him and focused intently on the drawing again.

“How much of the wall am I allowed to paint?”

“There are no boundaries put on the space. You can use the entire wall if you’d like.” He tried to sound nonchalant, professional even, and knew by the way the tension in her shoulders began to melt that he’d hit his mark. He leaned over the documents to get a better look, and their shoulders brushed.

She licked her lips, driving him even crazier, and when she stole another quick glance at him, the cooler air that had come with her shutting down his apology heated and sparked again.

He and Reese had never been good at cooling things down. Their connection had always run too deep—and apparently still did. Thank God.

“No boundaries,” she said just above a whisper.

His heartbeat quickened. “Do you have any idea”—what you’re doing to me?—“what you’re going to paint?”

“Not yet.” She wouldn’t look at him as she added in a softer voice, “I’m still trying to decide.”

Trent had lived with her long enough to guess that she wasn’t just trying to figure out the mural, she was also trying to figure out them. He didn’t want to push her so hard that she’d run, but he couldn’t hold back the hope that he was reaching her at least a little bit. “Reese, can we talk about us? Please?”

“How can we when this is exactly what we lost?” she asked. She turned to face him, and a lock of hair fell in front of her eyes. “Not just talking to each other, but listening. Really listening.”

As he’d done so many times before, Trent reached up and tucked the lock behind her ear. He hadn’t forgotten how silky her hair was and how smooth her skin felt, but it stunned him nonetheless.

“You’re right. We screwed up. In the worst way possible. But we can try to fix it now.”

Her eyes were full of both desire and restraint as she shook her head. “I don’t know if we can.”

Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t resist stroking his fingertips gently over her cheek. He had missed touching her so much, and she always felt so warm, so good. So right.

“Trent,” she whispered, desire taking the lead now as she reached up to touch the back of his hand, and her lips parted. When her tongue swept across her lower lip again, his restraint shattered.

“We did lose track of how to talk to each other, but we sure as hell never lost this.”

Trent sealed his lips over hers and slid his hand to the nape of her neck. He kissed her gently at first, testing the waters, half expecting her to push him away. Instead, she gripped the sides of his head and deepened the kiss, sliding her knees between his as she moved closer, the same way she always used to.

She tasted sweet, hot, and so damn familiar it was hard for Trent to think. But he didn’t need to think. All he needed was Reese, and he didn’t want to stop with just one kiss. Their tongues moved with familiar passion and longing so thick it threatened to pull him over the edge.

But just as quickly as she’d deepened their kiss, now she was pulling away with the same speed. “You kissed me!” She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, her eyes wide with surprise.

Desperate to kiss her again, Trent couldn’t stop the truth from pouring out. “Maybe I should be sorry I kissed you, but I’m not. How can I be when you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to kiss like that?”

“Trent. I’m not sure…I don’t think…” She shifted her knees away, her hand still touching her lips.

He knew how conflicted she was, could hear it loud and clear in the tone of her voice. But the way she’d kissed him, how greedily she’d claimed his mouth and held him so tightly, told him that she wasn’t completely over him.

And that gave him hope. More hope than he’d had in ten years. All he wanted was to pull her into his arms and love the conflict in her eyes away, but he knew he should give her time to think.