“What do you think I’m doing here?”
Her hand went to her throat. “I do not—I do not know. I have no conception of what you are doing here.”
“You mean, you have no concept of what I’m doing here.”
“Si. That is what I said. I have no conception of what you are doing here. I cannot imaginate a reason.”
“Jesus! It’s imagine, not imaginate…” Wait. Her speech was stilted. Her words were wrong. And she was trembling. He didn’t want to see her tremble, but for a man reduced to reading signs, that was another good one.
Maybe there was hope.
“Please,” she said. “Answer my question. Why are you here?”
He took a long, unsteady breath. The only way to deal with fear was to face it.
“I’m here to see you.”
“But why?” she said. “Why would you want to see me, Chayton?”
Chayton. She had called him Chayton.
“Bianca,” he said softly.
“Why? You have to tell me why. Because we said goodbye, do you remember? We said—we said we were done, that whatever had happened was over, that there was no more…”
He covered the distance between them in a couple of strides.
“Bianca,” he whispered and then, just as he’d dared to dream, she was in his arms.
He kissed her mouth. Her throat. Her mouth again. He clasped her face in his hands and said her name, over and over, and her taste, her sweet taste, filled him.
She was weeping.
But, Christ, so was he. Except—except, that was impossible. Men didn’t cry. They never cried…
“Honey,” he whispered, “sweetheart, I love you.”
She laughed. She dug her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck, rose on her toes and pressed her open mouth to his.
“Say it again, Chayton. Tell me.”
“I love you,” he said. “I adore you. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you! Tell me it’s the same for you, baby. Say the words.”
“Chayton. Il mio amore. Ti amo. Ti adoro. Ti desidero.” Her eyes met his. “I love you. I adore you. I want you.”
Could you laugh and cry at the same time? “But you left me.”
“I didn’t think there was room in your life for me.”
“Baby.” Chay kissed her again. “I have no life without you.”
“Your career…”
“We’ll find a way to make it work. If you can handle me flying back and forth, you flying back and forth…”
“It would be simpler if we were both on one coast,” she said softly.
A muscle knotted in his jaw. He’d given that a lot of thought. And, hell, if it came down to that…