there, fine, unhurt, and she was just staring straight ahead, unseeing, unmoving.
Why was it her? Why, on such a perfect, sunny day, with nothing remotely sinister flashing up as a warning? Why was she the one in the path of a drunk guy who was wasted at six in the evening? Why was it her side of the car? Life didn’t make sense.
Why was Jill gone when the world needed her? She was the sort of person who would have made an impact. Who had the resources and the drive. And he was…
He was the one who was still here. And he couldn’t figure it out. Not then, not ten years on.
Even so, he wasn’t sure why he’d spilled his guts to Evie, then clung to her like a needy child.
He’d begged her to stay, how sad was that?
He stood up and rubbed his hands over his face, and back over his hair.
“Morning, buttercup.” He turned and saw Evie, staring up at him, looking rumpled and sleepy and sexy. So sexy he wanted to climb back into her head, back into bed, back into her arms, and never get up again. The world sucked; he would rather spend the rest of his life in this bedroom with Evie. Spanking her and kissing her and being inside her.
The realization hit him with the force of a wrecking ball to the chest. He needed her. He’d known it was starting, but he hadn’t done what he should have right when he’d realized it. He couldn’t need her, because he had nothing to give back to her. He couldn’t stay with her because…
She deserved more than he was. More than a playboy who did nothing but sit on his ass and spend his father’s money.
You could be more.
Everything in him rebelled at the thought. He could do what? Step into the place Jill was supposed to occupy? The thought made him feel like he was on the verge of a panic attack. Jill, cool, composed, brilliant Jill’s place couldn’t be filled that easily.
And it certainly couldn’t be filled by him.
You’re assuming Dad would even want you to try. You’re assuming Evie would want you.
Big assumptions.
Probably incorrect assumptions. And just as well.
“Morning,” he said, his voice as broken and graveled as he felt inside.
She sat up, not bothering to pull the blankets up over her pale breasts, the morning light casting a golden glow over her bare body. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning.
He didn’t like that he was so transparent to her. BS was his game. He was better at hiding his feelings than this. He’d gone out the night of the accident, straight from the hospital, and picked up a woman, laughed, smiled, screwed her senseless. Then he’d given her a kiss, walked out of her apartment, got into his car, laid in the backseat and cried for two hours. Alone. Not in front of anyone. Not ever.
He’d done much the same most nights since. Minus the crying. He didn’t do that every night. But sometimes.
So why did it feel hard now? Why did it feel like he couldn’t hide this from her? Because she’d been able to tell something was wrong the moment she’d arrived yesterday. And he hadn’t been able to hold it in. He hadn’t been able to protect himself.
Just like now.
“I’m fine,” he said. “But I think you’d better get up and get ready to leave, I have some things I need to do.”
She frowned. “It’s Sunday and you don’t do anything.”
“Well, I have plans today.”
“What plans?”
“Maybe take a bloody hint, Evie. I’m not busy. I want you to go home.”
She jerked back like he’d slapped her across the face, and he felt like he had. He felt like the absolute worthless bastard he knew he was. But the alternative was baring his soul and he was damn sure not going to do that.
“What the hell is your problem, Caleb?” she asked, sliding out of bed, naked, beautiful and making his legs weak.
“Look, this is why I don’t have women spend the night. I want sex when I want sex, then I want to get on with my day.”
“Oh don’t hand me your bullshit and expect me
Why was it her? Why, on such a perfect, sunny day, with nothing remotely sinister flashing up as a warning? Why was she the one in the path of a drunk guy who was wasted at six in the evening? Why was it her side of the car? Life didn’t make sense.
Why was Jill gone when the world needed her? She was the sort of person who would have made an impact. Who had the resources and the drive. And he was…
He was the one who was still here. And he couldn’t figure it out. Not then, not ten years on.
Even so, he wasn’t sure why he’d spilled his guts to Evie, then clung to her like a needy child.
He’d begged her to stay, how sad was that?
He stood up and rubbed his hands over his face, and back over his hair.
“Morning, buttercup.” He turned and saw Evie, staring up at him, looking rumpled and sleepy and sexy. So sexy he wanted to climb back into her head, back into bed, back into her arms, and never get up again. The world sucked; he would rather spend the rest of his life in this bedroom with Evie. Spanking her and kissing her and being inside her.
The realization hit him with the force of a wrecking ball to the chest. He needed her. He’d known it was starting, but he hadn’t done what he should have right when he’d realized it. He couldn’t need her, because he had nothing to give back to her. He couldn’t stay with her because…
She deserved more than he was. More than a playboy who did nothing but sit on his ass and spend his father’s money.
You could be more.
Everything in him rebelled at the thought. He could do what? Step into the place Jill was supposed to occupy? The thought made him feel like he was on the verge of a panic attack. Jill, cool, composed, brilliant Jill’s place couldn’t be filled that easily.
And it certainly couldn’t be filled by him.
You’re assuming Dad would even want you to try. You’re assuming Evie would want you.
Big assumptions.
Probably incorrect assumptions. And just as well.
“Morning,” he said, his voice as broken and graveled as he felt inside.
She sat up, not bothering to pull the blankets up over her pale breasts, the morning light casting a golden glow over her bare body. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning.
He didn’t like that he was so transparent to her. BS was his game. He was better at hiding his feelings than this. He’d gone out the night of the accident, straight from the hospital, and picked up a woman, laughed, smiled, screwed her senseless. Then he’d given her a kiss, walked out of her apartment, got into his car, laid in the backseat and cried for two hours. Alone. Not in front of anyone. Not ever.
He’d done much the same most nights since. Minus the crying. He didn’t do that every night. But sometimes.
So why did it feel hard now? Why did it feel like he couldn’t hide this from her? Because she’d been able to tell something was wrong the moment she’d arrived yesterday. And he hadn’t been able to hold it in. He hadn’t been able to protect himself.
Just like now.
“I’m fine,” he said. “But I think you’d better get up and get ready to leave, I have some things I need to do.”
She frowned. “It’s Sunday and you don’t do anything.”
“Well, I have plans today.”
“What plans?”
“Maybe take a bloody hint, Evie. I’m not busy. I want you to go home.”
She jerked back like he’d slapped her across the face, and he felt like he had. He felt like the absolute worthless bastard he knew he was. But the alternative was baring his soul and he was damn sure not going to do that.
“What the hell is your problem, Caleb?” she asked, sliding out of bed, naked, beautiful and making his legs weak.
“Look, this is why I don’t have women spend the night. I want sex when I want sex, then I want to get on with my day.”
“Oh don’t hand me your bullshit and expect me
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