His Wedding Date (The Second Chance Love Series, Book 2) (31 page)

Hell, the man on the phone was ready to hire her and put her to work in a couple of weeks.

Brian was furious all over again. It was all he could do not to tell the guy that she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

In the end, Brian wasn't sure exactly what he told the man. He just knew he managed to get off the phone so he could find her.

She was still standing in front of the site plan. He reminded himself a few people were still in the office, and he managed to ask her quite calmly to step into his office. He had to remind himself not to lose his temper again. It would only make things more difficult.

But it was infuriating when she tried to pretend there was nothing between them and he had no right to try to protect her. He couldn't stop that particular feeling, any more than he could clamp down on any of the others he had for her.

He'd been protective of her from the time she was six, when she had been one of the loneliest, saddest, sweetest kids he'd ever met. The feeling was so deeply ingrained in him, he wouldn't ever be able to pry it out of himself—just as he was sure all the other feelings he had for her would be with him forever.

He was just surprised it had taken him so long to figure it all out.

"Is something wrong?" she asked finally, drawing him back to the situation at hand.

"A misunderstanding, I'm sure," he said. "There's a man in San Francisco who's under the impression you want to come to work for him."

"Oh... him. I forgot. He called one day this week."

"You went looking for a job one day this week?" When he'd hardly had time to breathe and certainly no time to think, she'd been job-hunting on the West Coast?

"No. I sent them my resume weeks ago. When I got what I thought was your wedding invitation."

"Oh." That wasn't so terrible. That was before... before his whole life had changed. "So you just need to tell him you're no longer interested in moving."

"I'm not?"

"You're kidding right?" He was baffled and getting mad all over again. "After everything that's happened between us? You're going to run away from me now?"

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what happened between us or what it meant. I don't know what's going to happen, and if things don't work out between us or nothing else happens between us, I can't stay here with you. I can't."

"Something else is going to happen between us. A whole lot, if I have anything to say about it."

"Okay, but if it doesn't work out, I have to get out of here. So when this man called and wanted to talk to me about a job, all the way across the country, I talked to him. Because I might need to go. You have to understand that."

"No, I don't understand! I don't understand women at all. You could have died two days ago!"

"Grant wasn't going to hurt me—"

"Like hell he wasn't! And I had to stand there, again, and watch that man hold a gun to your head for the second time in a week. Do you have any idea what that was like?"

"Yes, I do, because you stood there, right in front of him, between him and the way out, and you didn't have any kind of weapon at all. You're the one who could have died—"

"I was terrified," he said.

"Me, too."

"I was terrified that he was going to hurt you, and there was no way in hell I was going to let him walk out of there with you. No way," he insisted.

"Well, I wasn't going to let him hurt you, either!" She fell silent for a moment.

"Okay. Good. Doesn't that mean we really like each other? At the very least? And should stay on the same side of the country for a while, until we figure everything out about everything we feel?"

She looked like she was about to cry, and he got scared all over again.

"And I'm sorry," he said, rushing on. "I'm so sorry about the hospital. Afterward, when I yelled at you. Not before, when I wasn't going to let him leave with you. I'd never let anyone drag you anywhere at gunpoint. Never."

"I know. Because you think of me as someone you have to take care of. You always have."

"Yes, I did. I still do," he admitted.

"Because you feel responsible for me—"

"Well, sue me because I've known you since you were six and I've always felt protective of you. How is that a bad thing?"

"Because I don't want to be nothing but a responsibility to you—"

"You're not. Not just that. You're so much more. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out. Sorrier than you could ever imagine. Be mad at me about that, but don't leave me. You can't leave me now."

"Oh, Brian." She sounded as sad as a woman could possibly be.

Still, they'd gotten past being scared and mad. That was something.

"I'm guessing you're worried that everything that's happened between us in the last week or two has been a mistake. Or an odd reaction to stress and danger. Maybe some old feelings on my part that had everything to do with friendship and affection and protectiveness for you, but nothing more."

She nodded.

"Well, it's not," he insisted. "And I know I've been an idiot where you're concerned, and I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. I've wasted so much time—"

"No, I have. Waiting and hoping—"

"The waiting's over. I'm here. You're here. We're together now."

"We are?"

Okay, that was a puzzle. He backed up. "Aren't we?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Fine. I can fix this right now. We are. We're together. Okay?"

She looked at him like it was a trick question.

"That's what I want," he said, in case there was any question, and then realized he was almost shouting again. When he'd yelled at her at the hospital, it had not gone well. And he'd been yelling just a few minutes ago. Again, it had not gone well. So it probably wasn't what he needed to do right now, either. "Okay, I will once again say I am not handling this well, but I'm trying. I'm really trying, Shelly."

"Okay," she said.

"And I'm usually a lot better than this at getting my point across. You know that, right?"

She nodded.

"But I am still so damned scared about what might have happened to you because of that man who kept finding you and choking you and pointing a loaded gun at you. And it's made me a little crazy, and I can't seem to say what I really want to say."

She sighed. "Well, what do you want to say?"

He thought about how to explain, what he could say that she would believe at this point, because things had changed between them so fast and under extraordinary circumstances. She probably doubted everything.

Finally, he got to his bottom line.

"All those years with Rebecca?" he said. "There were times when I was mad about the idea of losing her and frustrated as hell."

"Great," Shelly said.

"But I was never terrified of losing her. Yesterday, Shelly, I was terrified. I was shaking, I was so scared. I kept trying to picture my life without you and... No way. It just all seemed pointless. Please tell me you believe that, at least."

"I... I..."

"Sweetheart, you're just scared. That's all. We both are. Because there's so much at stake. But that's okay, because it's us. We know each other. We trust each other, right?"

"I trust you," she admitted.

"And I don't ever want to hurt you. I'm always going to want to protect you. You can't ask me to stop feeling that way, but it doesn't mean I can't feel a whole lot more for you. This is our time. We're together, and we're going to figure this out. And I think it's going to be so good. Don't you?"

Shelly nodded. "I just... After this... after us being together like this, I can't lose you after this."

"You're not going to lose me," he said.

"You don't know that. You can't promise that."

"Terrified," he said again. "Of losing you. I was flat-out terrified. Yesterday. There is nothing casual about the way I feel about you. Shelly, you've always been important to me. You were just a little kid at first, and it took me a while to see you as anything but a little girl. And see anything when I was blinded by Rebecca. That's the way I think of it now. I just couldn't see anyone else but her, and it was... I don't know why. Maybe I'm just stubborn as hell... I don't know. But that's done."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Because I can't be your substitute for Rebecca," she insisted.

"Don't want one. Don't need one," he said. "I don't want you to be anybody but you. I'm not blind anymore. I see you. I want you. I'd like very much to have my hands on you right now, holding onto you, making sure you don't try to leave me. And once I'm sure of that–that you're not leaving me–then, I can think of some other things I'd really like to be doing, things that also involve having my hands on you, all over you. My hands and my mouth. How about that?"

She still hesitated.

"You just have to believe, just a little bit for now," he said. "Just to give us this chance, and I'll show you everything you need to know about you and me. I'll keep showing you until you believe it. Okay?"

She nodded, very tentatively.

"Now, how about the first thing we clear up is how much I hated not having you with me last night? In my arms. In my bed."

"I hated it, too."

"Well, there you go. We agree about something. Finally. Should we go to my house or just lock the door to my office and stay here?"

He had at least three more points he intended to go over with her, but the disbelief in her eyes about his last question was more than he could handle in a civilized fashion.

She'd already accused him of being practically barbaric a few days ago, so he figured he didn't have anything to lose by giving in to a few more of those feelings.

He hauled her up out of the seat so she was standing in front of him, his eyes boring down into her. "Do you honestly think I make a habit of making love to women on my bathroom countertop? Or on the floor? Because I'm so damned desperate to have them I can't make it the five feet to the bed?"

She couldn't help but blush at that. It had been a long time before they'd made it to the bed. And she was certain that no man had ever been so passionately intent on pleasing her.

But that wasn't love.

Not necessarily.

She supposed if a woman was very, very lucky, it could be a part of love.

She picked her words very carefully. "I know you have some sort of desire for me."

He scoffed at that, laughing sarcastically. "Some sort of desire?"

He seemed to be rather insulted by that. He got up, walked to the door and locked it, then pulled off his suit coat and threw it across the back of the other chair.

"We don't have to argue about this. I can show you this 'some sort of desire' I have for you."

He pushed the papers aside from the front edge of his desk. They fell in a heap to the floor, but he didn't seem to care. He loosened his tie.

Shelly felt the color rise in her cheeks, felt the blood heating within her veins. And she felt uneasy about the situation spiraling into something completely out of her control.

"I know what desire feels like," she told him desperately. "Believe it or not, men have desired me."

"Not like I have," he said through clenched jaws. "And I have no trouble believing other men have wanted you, although I could do without being reminded of them."

Shelly didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. He was seething mad, and that wasn't like him.

He started to come closer, and she put a hand up to hold him off. Her hand touched his chest, and that was a mistake. He'd loosened his tie, but his shirt was still buttoned. The white cotton lay between them, but it didn't matter. She could feel the heat coming off him, and she could feel every beat of his heart.

"Oh," she said, pulling her hand away.

She would have turned away, as well, but his arms came up to hold her there, less than a foot away. And he wasn't going to let go.

Shelly accepted that and dropped her eyes, at least. "Regardless of what you think you feel for me, it's not what I want, what I need. It's not love."

"You don't know that," he argued. "You can't possibly, because I don't even know myself yet. It's all brand new. It's something brand new, but somehow tied into what I've always felt for you. So it's all a jumble inside me right now. I know what I think it is, what I'm pretty sure it is. But I thought I should take some time to be sure, maybe a day or two. What do you think? Because when I say it, I'd really like for you to believe me."

His hands tightened on her arms for just a moment before he let her go. He didn't say a word for the longest time.

He just watched her as she stood there in front of him, trying to make sense of it all.

Except, she couldn't. It didn't make any sense to her.

"I need a man who loves me," she said. "I deserve it."

He nodded, and she thought she was finally getting through to him.