At Any Price(115)

“I’m glad you did it,” I finally said. “And I’m glad you’re happy. And…” Deep breath, curled fists. “I’m glad you’ve found someone.”

And with that, I turned and started my run. Maybe if I caught him off guard—and while running downhill, I could get far enough ahead of him that I could avoid him for the rest of the night. I soon heard his feet behind me, hitting with regular steps that matched mine.

When we finally hit the bottom of the hill and flat land, he stopped me again. We were both breathing heavily. “Are you?”

“What?”

“Are you really glad I’ve found someone?”

Hell no. I shrugged. There was no way I could answer that question in any way that would preserve my dignity.

“Emilia, I’m not with anyone.”

My breath stuttered. “Excuse me?”

“There hasn’t been anyone since you. I’m not with Lindsay.”

My head spun. “But—”

“I know it’s hard to believe because of what you saw. But I was pissed off, okay? Lindsay had come down to the complex to have lunch, but when my assistant said you were there, I was getting rid of her. I thought you’d come to talk. When I saw that package on the table, well, I wasn’t thinking straight. I did that to Lindsay to purposefully hurt you.”

My breathing hitched. “Mission accomplished, then,” I said in a falsely bright voice. But I was dizzy with the wave of relief that washed over me at that news. I almost toppled. Relief came first, then crackling anger. How many times had I replayed that scene in my mind? How many times had I pictured them together as lovers—each time sinking a knife deeper into my heart? I fought for breath, feeling close to tears again, to my utter humiliation.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his brow creasing at my reaction.

I didn’t reply. I doubt I could have even if I’d wanted to.

“Emilia—”

And he would have reached for my arm, but I stepped away and ran all the way back to the house with him close behind. I laid it out flat—ran as fast as I could and he stayed on my heels easily.

When we stopped, I didn’t run for the door. Mia the coward would have done something like that. Instead I lingered at the front porch, glancing at the glow coming from behind the blinds in the window. It wasn’t yet dark enough for Mom to turn on the porch light so we were masked in the violet darkness of dusk.

I didn’t say anything but I didn’t move from my spot, either, still breathing heavily. In spite of the churning emotions, I liked having him here with me. It beat the hell out of that distant, empty ache. This pain was sharper, more acute, but he was here. Standing close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off of him in his sweat-soaked shirt.

He took a hesitant step toward me. God, I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to touch him. I turned my face to the side, unwilling to look into his intent eyes. “Hurting you wasn’t the only reason I did it,” he finally said in a hoarse voice.

Pain radiated in my chest whenever I breathed. “Oh?”

“I wanted to prove to myself—and you—that you cared.” He moved a step closer, reached up to run his thumb along my jaw and tilt my head toward him. I backed away and he followed until I came up against the pole that held up the overhang of the front porch. His face was inches from mine and my heart beat on every micrometer of my skin. “You do care, don’t you, Emilia?”

I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to summon up every ounce of anger and annoyance I felt for this man. But his thumb—that tiny touch along my jaw, shifted to glide over my lips, making me crazy, awakening that deep hunger inside. I cared. Of course I fucking cared. I hadn’t been able to rip my mind away from him in the month we’d been apart from each other. He was the first thing I thought of every morning, the last every night and he slipped effortlessly into most waking thoughts during the moments between.

“I never said I didn’t care,” I finally said, lamely.

“You never said you did, either.”

My eyes found his, I shivered and he pulled his hand away. “I care,” I whispered.

His head closed the distance on mine and he pushed my head back with the force of the contact. Our mouths met, eagerly tasting each other. My body rose up to meet his, my hands clamping around his neck to hold him to me. With a low groan, he plunged his tongue into my mouth and together our tongues danced. Desire pervaded me, right to the deepest center. I wanted the touch of his mouth, his hands, his body. I wanted the words to go along with them. I wanted to know he cared.

When he reached for my waist, I pulled my head away though everything in me screamed in protest. I put my hands on his damp, hard chest. I wasn’t ready for more. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I needed time to think. Time to breathe.