Through a haze of desire, she heard the fork clattering to the floor. Suppressed need rushed through her. She’d wanted to wrap him in her arms from the moment he’d wakened her, shouting. If she didn’t kiss him right this moment, she’d go quietly insane. “Jack,” she whispered, spinning in his arms and wrapping hers around his waist.
When his gaze met hers, she knew he wanted what she wanted. Lifting up on her toes, she brushed her mouth across his. He grabbed her upper arms and held her there while he kissed her until her head spun.
This, she thought, as he crushed her to him. This is what we both feel…need…want. “I’m not going to change my mind, Jack.” The need to tell him she loved him filled her, but would he believe her if she told him now, or would he think she was saying it because she felt sorry for him? She should wait to tell him…tomorrow, when the terror of the night was forgotten.
***
The overwhelming need to put his fist through the glass window of his back door left him as he took the comfort Cait offered every time she lifted her lips to him. Every subtle movement of her body as she stood at his stove, making him breakfast, tightened one of the knots he desperately needed retied to keep his past where it had to be—buried deep where no one could find it. He was afraid of what might happen if he let everything he’d felt that day resurface. The storm had lifted the lid and a part of that shattered man emerged. But he’d shoved those doubts and feelings of guilt and inadequacy back and secured that lid.
The imagery had been working since the doctor had first explained what was happening to Jack. For the last year and a half, he’d been able to function normally, without fear that the lid would blow off and all of the anger, fear, and self-recrimination would seep over the sides and spill into the life he’d planned to carve out for himself in Apple Grove.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” he lied. He wanted Cait in his life so badly; he prayed she wouldn’t leave, desperate to keep a part of her goodness in his life. But he didn’t deserve happiness. How could he, when the marine he’d fought to save had died and they’d given Jack a fucking medal for his bravery under fire?
Cait pushed out of his arms and from the look on her face, her feelings had been injured. “If you don’t want me here, I can go home,” she told him. “But I made a promise to you and to Jamie,” she bit out. “I’ll still take care of him while you are at work unless and until you make other arrangements.”
“Caitlin.”
With her chin lifted and fire in her eyes, he knew he’d never love another woman they way he loved her. Love? Yeah, love, you idiot. Why else would he let her into his life when he’d pushed so many others away? She was the first woman he’d wanted in his home and in his bed—where the danger of a thunderstorm could expose who and what he truly was.
He loved her. But if he told her now, would she believe him? Needing the physical contact to soothe the emotions rocketing around inside him, he reached for her. This time, she let him pull her back into his arms. His heart shouted, “I love you,” while he murmured, “Please don’t go.”
Some of the rigid tension left her as she reacted to his plea. Finally, she said, “I’m hungry.”
He let her go, but from the jerky movements, he knew she was still upset. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. But if he apologized, would she want to talk about it? Women always want to talk about it.
“I don’t.” Jesus, had he said that out loud?
Judging from the expression on her face, he had. The tone of her voice confirmed it. “Why don’t you put on more coffee while I make toast?”
Sensing that she needed time to mull things over, he did as she asked without speaking. By the time he’d poured more coffee and she had set a plate heaped with fluffy eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, he realized she wasn’t like other women. He got up and held out her chair when she placed a second plate on the table…with the same amount of food on it.
The laugh surprised them both.
“What’s so funny?”
“You really are hungry.”
“I told you I was,” she grumbled, and sat down, letting him guide her chair closer.
They ate and sipped coffee while the remnants of the storm petered out and the tension swirling around them dissipated.
When he sat back, replete, she finally spoke. “I love the way the air smells like it’s been scrubbed clean after a storm.”
“It should worry me that you and I think so much alike.”
She paused with her mug halfway to her lips. “Why?”