Since I Fell For You(38)

“Yes.”

She kept her eyes on the road, which let him drink in her every expression as she drove. He relished the chance to learn the curve of her dark eyelashes, how they rested for the briefest instant on her high cheekbones when she blinked. He let himself take in the slight flush that had begun to brush over her skin as she answered his questions. He was mesmerized by the pulse point at her neck, a gorgeous inch of skin that he was desperate to taste.

“But,” she continued, “if my passion ever became obsession—if it ever started to destroy me or the people I love—I would walk away from it. In a heartbeat.” She sighed. “My father feels his passion for painting my mother is what destroyed both their relationship and her, so I understand why he moved on to something completely new. Besides, there are so many amazing things out there to focus on. Why do we have to choose only one?”

With every word she spoke, he was more and more drawn to her, despite knowing better. Roman’s father had taught him that women couldn’t be trusted, that one was as good as the next. But Roman was positive his father had never met a woman like Suzanne.

“I’ve seen passion destroy people before,” he found himself saying.

When she briefly took her eyes off the road to look at him, he could read the unspoken questions in her gaze. He’d never shared details of his past with other clients, but any way he tried to spin it to himself, it was impossible to deny that Suzanne would ever be just another client.

“My mother left us when I was ten.” It wasn’t just clients to whom he hadn’t divulged his past. He’d never shared this with another woman either. But if anyone would understand, it was Suzanne. “My father was as passionate about claiming he’d never loved my mother as it sounds like your father was passionate in his love for yours. He nursed that hatred for her until it began to destroy him in a worse way than her leaving ever had. Everything you’re saying about shifting gears when you’ve taken something too far makes sense. My dad should have shifted gears a hell of a long time ago.”

The pity he expected to see on Suzanne’s face never materialized. Instead, she said, “Our childhoods sound pretty similar. My dad and your dad came at things from opposite directions, but it still meant neither of them were really there for us, were they?” She was silent for a moment before adding, “Although we had a pretty big family breakthrough a few weeks ago, so now my dad is finally trying, at least.”

“That’s good.” He was happy for her. At the same time, however, he hoped her father wouldn’t end up disappointing her more than he already had. Roman hated the thought of anyone hurting Suzanne for any reason, family or otherwise.

She shot him a questioning glance. “What about your dad? Do you have a better relationship now than you did when you were a kid?”

“No.” The word came out curt. Hard. The only way it could.

“Do you see him anymore?”

He could have shut her down the way he had when they’d been running and she’d suggested that they should get to know each other better since they were going to be spending so much time together. But that had been before he’d really begun to understand her.

Roman had never wanted to dwell on his childhood by spending hours in a psychologist’s office rewinding through it. Nor had he been tempted to get drunk with the guys and joke about the shitty way his life used to be. Now, he found himself wondering if he’d been waiting for Suzanne to understand everything in an instant—because she’d been in similar situations with her parents.

“He pops up from out of the blue from time to time.” Roman left out that it was always when his father needed money to bet on boxing matches.

“What about your mom?” When he didn’t answer right away, she said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean for this to turn into twenty questions. I know how you feel about personal boundaries with your clients, and you’ve already told me so much.”

She was right—this conversation had already gone way past professional lines. But wasn’t crossing the line into becoming friends better than crossing any other lines with her? Maybe, he told himself, being friends with Suzanne would be his best shot at fulfilling a need for her that was growing by the minute.

“I haven’t seen her since I was ten. She jumped around the country for a few years, chasing whatever guy she decided she was in love with and sending me postcards, but the postcards stopped coming when I was eighteen.”

“I’m sorry, Roman.”

He was too, more than he’d ever wanted to admit to himself.