Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
One blink. A swallow. His chin pulls in, a slight shake of his head, as if he’s shaking off a daze. The creases around his eyes are so deep, his frown heavy. Everything suggests he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t comprehend.
Because he could never have anticipated this, and he doesn’t need to tell me that.
Slipping his hands under my armpits, he pushes me back so I’m kneeling between his legs, his gaze now avoiding mine. He rises, the water pouring from his naked body, and he steps out of the tub. He doesn’t grab a towel, doesn’t dry himself. Long strides take him out of the bathroom soaking wet, leaving me alone in his tub, wondering what the hell just happened.
My eyes dart across the water lapping gently around my kneeling form. Should I go after him? Should I dry myself, get dressed, and leave? A tidal wave of uncertainties circles my twisted mind, tangling it more. Don’t tell me that on top of everything, seeing Dominic with a woman who’s pregnant, knowing he’s moving on, replacing our little boy, building a new family, I’m going to have to mourn the peace I found with Dec?
Mourn the loss of him too?
I just told him I love him. How could I have gotten it so wrong? He said nothing would change for him.
Biting down on my lip, I wince away the fresh bout of pain stabbing at my heart, reaching for the sides of the tub to lift myself out, but the sound of a loud bang, followed by a crash that echoes through the house, stops me. I stare at the doorway, hearing him curse loudly.
Then . . . silence.
And then I’m shutting down. I can feel it happening, the iron walls coming up, my mind blocking every ugly thought coming at me, trying not to let it attach and stick. Deflecting. He can’t handle the truth. He can’t handle me. As I always feared.
Every muscle in me hardens in preparation to stand up and get out of here.
And then loosens again when Dec appears in the doorway.
Still naked.
His expression now not blank but pained.
He has a short, fat crystal glass in each hand, both half full of clear liquid. Something tells me it isn’t water. Dec takes a swig of one. “Is your hand bleeding?” I ask, catching the scuffs on his knuckles.
“It’s nothing.” He comes to me and puts the drink in my hand. “Drink it.”
“All of it?”
He doesn’t answer, instead necking his own and hissing. Putting his glass on the vanity unit, he shakes the bite of the strong alcohol away and steps back into the tub, kneeling opposite me. “Are you going to drink that?”
I look at the glass, just as Dec takes it and leans out of the bath, putting it on the floor. “I’m sorry I left.”
My strung muscles loosen. “I understand.”
He shakes his head. “I just needed a moment to process what you just told me. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”
“There’s no wrong thing to say.”
His face falls, his palms clamping my cheeks between them. “I love you.”
The tables have turned. It’s now me motionless and stunned. Staring. Watching him as he watches me trying to wrap my mind around it.
“Deeply, Camryn.” His smile could make me burst into tears on the spot. “I’m so deeply in love with you, I don’t know my fucking arse from my elbow.”
I think I’m supposed to laugh at that.
“I love you so much, my heart aches for you. I love the ballsy career woman, but I hate why you need to be her now. I love the smile you rarely give out, which makes it all the more special when you smile for me. I love the way you close one eye when you’re thinking hard. I love the way you can be in perfect silence, and I can be in it with you. I love the way you hate Christmas, but it breaks me to now know why. I love your passion. I love the mole on your cheek. I love the way you scissor your cocktail glass with your fingers, and the way you chew your lip when you’re nervous.” He takes in air, his shoulders slumping. “How you laughed at Fawlty Towers and quickly corrected yourself. I love how you kiss me, but more than all of that,” he says, releasing my face and resting back on his heels. “More than anything, I love the way you look at me. And I want you to look at me like that every day for the rest of my life.”
Stunned, I drop back onto my arse, the pessimistic part of my brain telling me I’ve misheard him. Dreamed the last few minutes. This isn’t real, he can’t possibly love me. Who could?
But Dec . . . does?