“And now?” Sara’s golden-brown eyes were soft, her expression understanding of what he’d experienced.
“And now I don’t think avoidance or denial will fix the problem.”
“What problem do you want to fix?”
Her hand was toying with the juice glass on the coffee table. Reaching over, he covered hers with his. “I shouldn’t have left the other night the way I did.”
She glanced down at their hands, then back up at him. “I dumped a lot of my personal history on you...and the news about the investigation.”
“When I was your patient, I told you what happened with my fiancée.”
“That was part of your therapy. It’s important for me to listen carefully when I treat someone because not all physical pain is from a physical source.”
After he absorbed that, he admitted, “I wanted to know about your marriage, and I still do. But I know it’s painful for you to talk about.”
“It is. But I want to let go of it, not dwell on it. Still, sometimes what happened with Conrad directs what I think about things now, how I feel about getting involved with someone again, if I should even consider it. Certainly not while I’m in the mess I’m in.”
“You mean the insurance investigation?”
She pulled her hand away from his. “Yes. I saw the doubts in your eyes, Jase. Doubts anybody would have.”
“I don’t doubt you, Sara.”
She looked wary. “But the way you left—”
“That avoidance I just spoke of—avoid pain, avoid involvement, avoid controversy. I’ve been pretty much doing that for two years, so that was my first response. I guess the bigger question was—did I want to get involved in your life by believing anything about you? Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
He slid his hand along her neck and fingered her earlobe. She closed her eyes for a moment as if she enjoyed his touch, but then she opened them and he knew what he had to say.
“I don’t for a minute believe you could set fire to your own house. That’s not you. That’s not the woman who helped me heal. That’s not the mom who takes care of Amy every day. So no matter what anyone else believes, know that I believe in you.”
“Oh, Jase.”
He knew moving in to kiss her was a mistake, especially after the history of pain they’d both experienced. But he felt urges he thought had died, and they were strong and couldn’t be ignored. The look in her eyes told him she felt them, too.... The chemistry between them, the sexual hunger. That drove him further. He didn’t know what he expected from her. He warned himself that he expected nothing.
But as soon as his lips took hers, fireworks burst bright and high. There were sparks and then fire that quickened every one of his nerve endings. The reason? She was kissing him back like she felt them, too.
As his tongue slid over hers, the taste of wine was heady. But even headier was her taste underneath, a sweetness that was pure woman. An alarm in the back of his head told him avoidance was still best, that remaining uninvolved was the safe way to go...that danger lurked in passion, the same way it lurked in the best cause.
But Sara smelled like strawberries and the sweetest garden mixture. As he ran his hands up and down her back, all he wanted to do was undress her.
That thought stalled when she abruptly ended the kiss, braced one hand against his chest and looked stricken.
“Amy’s in the next room,” she murmured, “and I...I can’t do this.”
This. Just what was this? Kissing until they stripped each other’s clothes off? Having sex on her sofa while her daughter was in the next room? Becoming involved in a physical relationship that could hurt them both?
Like a mantra that needed to be recited in an interminable loop, he warned himself, She’s a mom. She doesn’t sleep around. She deserves commitment.
Being involved with Sara meant being involved with Amy. He wasn’t father material. He’d never treat a child with the indifference with which Ethan had treated him, but what did he know about daily parenting? What did he know about having a relationship that lasted? That’s exactly what Sara would want. But right now, he wasn’t sure she wanted anything from him.
“I’m not tipsy,” she assured him, “but I think you saying you believe me made me a little intoxicated.”
He supposed that was as fitting an excuse as any, but he didn’t like the fact she made an excuse. “I didn’t say it so that would happen.”
“I know,” she almost whispered, moving a little bit farther away. Didn’t she trust herself? Or didn’t she trust him?