Her aunt had promised that she loved her and would always be there for her, but as soon as she'd gotten pregnant, she'd shipped the eleven-year-old Faith off to her grandparents.
Her aunt had been apologetic, saying she just didn't think she could cope with a new baby as well as a child in the house, and Faith had understood that. She'd never blamed her aunt. Instead, she'd just felt stupid that she'd let herself believe this time it might be different. Had let herself hope.
Hope was dangerous.
After the way she'd felt in his arms last night, it was clear that if she let herself begin to hope with Dylan, it would end up devastating her when he left. She'd allowed herself to feel too much.
By reputation, Dylan Hawke was the last man whose commitment she could depend on. No matter how sweet he was being to her now, she'd never be able to hold his attention for long. Better they step back from each other now, before she was hurt by his straying attention later.
As she found her way down the hallway to the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hit her senses, promising that everything would be better after she was caffeinated.
She rounded the corner and found Dylan leaning back against the counter, tapping his fingers in a rapid tattoo. He looked about as confused as she felt, and that gave her the confidence she needed.
"I think we need to talk," she said, hoping her voice didn't wobble.
Dylan nodded and handed her a mug of coffee. "I'm sorry about last night."
"If anyone's going to apologize, it should be me." She looked down into her steaming mug. "You held to your word longer than I did."
"Nevertheless, I shouldn't have given in at all." He rubbed a hand up and down his face, clearly annoyed at himself.
"Dylan, I don't want to get into the blame game. I'd rather we look at where we go from here." She leaned a hip on the counter across from him. "First, I think we crossed a line."
He coughed, almost choking on his coffee. "That's pretty safe to say."
At least they agreed on that. However, what to do about it was another matter entirely. She prayed for the strength to see this through. To avoid giving in and dragging him back to the bedroom now.
Interlacing her fingers in her lap, she focused on the cabinet over his shoulder as she spoke. "Crossing lines is becoming something of a habit for us."
"A habit?" He coughed out a laugh. "More like an addiction."
"And like all addictions, it's not healthy," she said reluctantly. "But clearly, I don't know how to stop."
He gave her a wry smile. "I guess that's the exact reason why people struggle with addictions. The how to stop part is hard."
Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze squarely. "So what do you think we should do?"
"There's only one solution. Cold turkey." There was a slight wince in his features as he said the words.
"That sounds final." And severe. Her body tensed just thinking about it. She imagined her reaction the next time she saw him, having to lock down her need as if they hadn't shared the deepest of connections. "How would cold turkey work?"
He put his empty mug in the sink and was silent for a long moment, his gaze trained on the view out the window. When he spoke again, he didn't turn back. "You're still working on the project, so we'll be seeing each other at meetings and at Liam's lab. But in general, we give up spending time alone."
"We haven't gone out of our way to spend time alone up until now. It's just kind of happened." When said aloud, it sounded feeble, but since that first night, when she'd realized they had a problem, they'd both tried to be careful. Yet they'd still ended up in his bed.
He turned back to her, crossing his arms over his chest, a tiny frown line appearing between his eyebrows. "New rules, new level of caution. I'll stay away from the Santa Monica store. If the opportunity arises to, say, attend a photo shoot together, one of us declines."
She nodded slowly. "We become extravigilant."
"Exactly." But he didn't meet her eyes as he said it.
It seemed surreal to be talking about this, to be more attracted to someone than she'd ever been but discussing ways to not act on it. Though it was the strength of that attraction that was the exact problem.
Hope was dangerous.
"So," she said, seeking to disarm some of the tension that had grown between them in the last ten minutes, "I guess standing around in your kitchen early in the morning is probably not something we should be doing, either."
"Nope," he said, his lips curving in a tight smile. "Especially with the way my thoughts are heading, seeing you leaning against my cabinetry."
She stepped away from the counter, which only brought her closer to him. In two steps, she could be in his arms again...
She bit down on her lip. He was right-there was no safe way to spend time alone together.
"Okay," she said, feeling as if she was signing her own death warrant. But she wouldn't give up this job or the opportunities Hawke's Blooms could offer her at this stage in her career. And if she wanted the job, she couldn't sleep with the boss. "I agree to your new plan."
He held out a hand for her mug, and as she gave it to him, his hand closed around hers for a long moment. "Even though we're trying to avoid repeating it, I want you to know I've enjoyed every moment I've spent with you, Faith Sixty-Three."
A ball of emotion rose up and lodged itself in her throat, and she had to swallow to get her voice to work. "I've enjoyed the time I've spent with you, too."
"Come on," he said, his voice rough. "I'll drive you out to get your car."
He grabbed his keys from the end of the counter, and she followed him out, stopping only to pick up her handbag and, one last time, to look around the apartment where she'd glimpsed heaven.
Eight
Dylan knocked on the door of Faith's ground-floor apartment and stepped back to wait. It had been almost a month since the night she'd stayed at his place. The night that had rocked him to his core. In that time, they'd seen each other at Liam's research lab and in meetings about the launch, but, as agreed, they hadn't spent any time alone together. And every day it had been a little more difficult than the day before to keep himself from calling her.
But that third date had been weighing on his mind. It was a loose end that needed clearing up, and it was time he did just that. The closure would help him move forward. Maybe he was grasping at straws, but nothing else had worked so far to help him forget her and move on.
The apartment door opened to reveal Faith in shorts and a T-shirt, her face makeup-free and her curling hair loose around her shoulders. She stole his breath.
"Dylan," she said, her voice betraying her surprise.
"Sorry for the unannounced visit." He smiled and dug his hands into his pockets. "Do you mind if I come in for a couple of minutes?"
She blinked and then opened the door wider. "Sure."
Once inside, he turned to take in the decor. Or lack of decor. The place was beyond minimalist-it was practically bare. There was an old sofa, a coffee table and a TV. The coffee table had a small pile of floristry magazines sitting haphazardly on it, and an empty mug. No bright cushions on the sofa, no colorful paintings on the walls. No collections of eccentric odds and ends, no surprises at all. It was like the anti-Faith apartment.
There was a kitchen beside the living room, with a counter acting as a divider between the rooms. Except for a chrome toaster and a mismatched wooden knife block, the kitchen counters were bare, echoing the interior design of the living room. He'd expected flair. Color. Personality. Faith.
"Can I get you a drink?" she asked, her features schooled to blank.
He shook his head and brought his attention back to the reason he'd come. "No, I won't be here long."
"Even so, maybe we should have this conversation outside." She headed out through the door she'd opened for him and stood in the small courtyard at the front of the apartment block. There were a few dry-looking shrubs enclosing a paved square that was heavily shaded by the building, and it looked about as wrong for her as the interior did.
"Is there a problem with the launch?" she asked, crossing her arms under her breasts.
The launch was only a week away and plans were in full swing, but it was running as smoothly as could be expected. But it was connected to why he'd knocked on her door this morning.
He cleared his throat. "We need to talk about the auction and our last date."
He'd wanted to bring it up again for a while now, but it didn't seem right to talk about it when they were at work. Where he was the boss and she was his employee. Those roles didn't disappear simply by talking to her here, obviously, but at least by discussing the situation when they were on her turf, it felt a little more equal.