More Than Need You (More Than Words 2)

“It hurt you,” I croon in a soft voice that’s somehow a small consolation to me, too.

“Yes. I couldn’t sleep in our bed, so I sat up all night, waiting for you to storm back in, seething about what I’d done. To demand that I give you back the body that belonged to you because you’d always been so possessive. But hour after hour passed without anything except silence and regret. That’s when I knew you were never coming back.” Tears fill her eyes and spill again in a stream of sorrow. “I found out I was pregnant a week later. Once Jamie was born, I dated a little off and on. Sometimes, I’d sleep with someone to see if I was finally over you. But no… I went from feeling sick and stupid to being frozen and empty.”

I understand. Most of my life, I’ve slept with women I didn’t have an ounce of feeling for. That’s how my old man taught me it was done. That’s what life reinforced. I never really knew anything else existed—until Britta.

She shrugs. “Either way, I felt deeply alone. And god, I need to shut up. I’m giving you so many weapons to use against me. You’re probably thinking gleefully about how sentimental and stupid I am and—”

“No. Never.” I finally risk cupping her face. “I’m thinking about how I would do anything to change that week of our lives. But I can’t. I can only ask for your forgiveness.”

“I think I’ve forgiven you.” She finally looks right at me, our gazes connecting in a snap I feel all the way to my toes. “I simply don’t know if I can forget.”

I want to kiss her. Right now. I want to imprint myself on her, show her exactly how I feel in a way I’m good at—certainly better than speaking a bunch of words. If I could show her the difference between the guy who randomly picked up women in a bar and gave them a good time because it temporarily masked how crappy I felt about myself versus the man standing in front of her desperate for the chance to make her mine because I love her, maybe she would understand.

I lower my head, inching so, so slowly toward her lips. She sees me coming, grabs my biceps, holds her breath. I feel her body tense. I dip closer. Her eyes slide shut.

Jesus, my heart is going to gallop out of my chest. We’ve made so much damn progress tonight. It must be a sign that she’s working through her scars. Maybe, deep down, she even wants me back. I’m excited. I have hope. I’m—

“No.” She steps back, shaking her head. She worries her engagement ring on her finger. “I’m committed to someone else. You and I have chemistry. I won’t deny that. Some part of my heart still belongs to you because you were my first love. That part will probably always belong to you. But I’ve moved on, made different choices. You seem to want some fairy tale out of our time together. Griff, you’re not Prince Charming, and you weren’t around to rescue me from the tower, so I found my own way out.”

Britta turns her back to me and heads into the house once more. Dismissing me.

“Makaio isn’t going to make you happy,” I call after her, following with soft footsteps. “He can’t.”

She stops, glances at me over her shoulder. I hover right behind her, absorbing the heat of her body as the tropical breeze kicks up. In those silent moments, I sense her hesitation. I smell her. I want her.

I’m not giving up until I have her again.

She whirls on me and backs a step away. “And you think you can?

“Yes.”

“I don’t need that crazy, consuming, dizzying sort of ‘love’ again. He respects me. We don’t argue. We’re looking for the same things in life.”

I scoff. “Logic isn’t going to fulfill you, angel. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t challenge you. And he damn well doesn’t excite you.”

She presses her lips together and crosses her arms. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t refute me.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I invite her. Fuck that, I goad her.

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m not going to do that.” Ever.

“Go to hell.”

“I’ve been in hell for the last three years. Now that I’m with you again, I’m staying right here. You’ll figure that out sooner or later.”

“I prefer Makaio. He gives me space.”

She’s lying to herself.

I shake my head. “He doesn’t care enough to do whatever it takes to earn your heart. He didn’t take care of you when you were sick, and he doesn’t give a damn that you have the perfect fucking dream wedding in mind. You’re only marrying him because you think he’s safe. Because you think he’ll never leave you. Because he doesn’t know or care that you’ll never give him the power to hurt you. I won’t make you admit that out loud, but you know I’m right.”

She sighs. Her shoulders droop. “If I gave you what you wanted right now… If I said, ‘You know, Griff, you’re totally right. Let’s get back together,’ you’d be bored in under a month.”

“No.”

“You’d be sneaking away to add notches on your bedpost in less than six weeks,” she goes on as if I didn’t refute her.

I grit my teeth. “Hell no.”

“You would. And you’d be gone from my life—and Jamie’s—again in…three, maybe four months. What’s the point? Am I your ultimate challenge? Does your ego need to see if you can win me back so you can dump me again?”

“Fuck no!”

I shouldn’t touch her at all, not now, not when I’m worked up and she’s feeling defensive. Cupping her shoulders certainly doesn’t satisfy my need to have her next to me, under me, filled with me. But I want her used to my hands on her skin. I’m willing to start slow. I’m going to work a little more each day to erase the feel of every other man from her memory.

“Yes,” she refutes. “You don’t want to see that. Maybe you need to believe you’ve changed so you can live with yourself. Maybe you’re looking for meaning or redemption or… I don’t even know. Maybe you hit thirty last November and started to think about how sad it is to be unmarried and decided you should settle for the woman who once dreamed naively of the day you would commit and set up house and take meaningless vows—”

“None of that. Fucking son of a bitch. Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve goddamn said since I walked back into your life? I. Love. You. And if I was lying to myself about anything in the past, it was that. By burying that truth, I didn’t have to admit that I was wrong or that I’d screwed up or that my loneliness was something I completely deserved. It would have been really easy to keep rolling along in life and blaming you for brea

king faith first by stabbing me with Maxon’s secret deal. I have plenty of reasons to know exactly how cutthroat women can be when it comes to money and power and…” I realize what I’m about to admit. It’s actually on the tip of my tongue. But if Britta is horrified with me now, she’ll be completely revolted by my dirty secret. “Whatever.”

“Not whatever. Tell me,” she demands. “What did I ever do to you but give you my devotion and believe in you?”

“We’re not solving anything at this point. I’m done.” I shoulder my way past her and stomp through the bedroom, heading for the stairs to find my suitcase in the foyer.

Britta marches after me. “See? That’s just like you, giving up. Walking out. Thanks for proving my point, asshole.”

God, she’s pushing me. And pushing harder than I ever expected. On the one hand, it’s a good sign. She’d be happy for my reprieve if she didn’t care. On the other hand, I’m beginning to understand how she feels, why she’s overwhelmed by what’s going on between us.

“I’m not walking out. Get it through your stubborn head, I will never do that again. I’m stopping a destructive argument. I’m making sure we don’t say awful things to each other, like we did the day we ended. I regret calling you a bitch. I regret letting you go, not being there for you and Jamie. Hell, I regret everything I’ve done in the last three years except the things I’ve done since I came to your engagement party.”