against it. “Dani?”
“I’m on my way out,” she said, her voice husky.
He ducked his head in. “Can I talk to you?”
“Of course.” Her eyes were dark and luminous, her hair wind-tossed and her cheeks flushed from the time spent outdoors. She sat down at the desk with her hands in her lap, waiting for him to speak.
There were no other chairs, so he took a seat on the lower bunk, hunching his back to keep from hitting his head against the upper frame. It was awkward, but it wasn’t as bad as towering over her.
The situation reminded him of their counseling sessions.
For six months after the accident, they’d gone to a grief specialist. At the end of each session, the therapist had asked him to turn toward Dani for “sharing time.” Sean had always made eye contact and listened carefully, but he’d never known what to say.
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving his gaze from her clasped hands to her beautiful face.
She moistened her lips. “For what?”
In the past, his answer might have been, “For whatever I did wrong,” or, even better, “For upsetting you.” While perfectly acceptable, in his mind, those responses hadn’t gone over well with her. This time, he dug a little deeper and told her what he was really sorry about. “For not being there for you,” he said, meeting her eyes.
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “What do you think you could have done?”
“Taken your place,” he said immediately. “You shouldn’t have been driving.”
Her brows drew together. “I suppose you think you could have avoided the SUV spinning out of control across the freeway.”
“No. I meant I wish it had been me. I wish I’d been hurt, instead of you. I’d have done anything to take your pain.”
“Sean—” She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut. The tears spilled out anyway, wetting her thick lashes.
He knew he was screwing this up, the same way he had everything else. His own throat tightened, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her again. But he continued, needing to have his say. “I’m also sorry if you were scared while I was out in the water. I know what it’s like to go crazy with worry. When you were in the hospital, I went through hell.”
“Yes,” she murmured, drying her wet cheek with one shirtsleeve. “Taryn told me how distraught you were. Did you cry on her shoulder?”
Actually, he’d cried in her lap, but he didn’t want Daniela to know that. He was ashamed of his helplessness, his loss of control and lack of strength. God, he’d been a wreck after the accident. He was glad she hadn’t seen him like that.
“There’s nothing between Taryn and me,” he said, feeling heat creep up his neck.
She stared at him, probably wondering why he would say that. He didn’t know himself. Letting her believe he was involved with Taryn had been a defense mechanism, an attempt to hide the truth from her.
He would always feel vulnerable around Daniela.
The day she’d signed the divorce papers had been the second worst of his life. Even now, a year later, his gut clenched at the memory. The torn-up pieces of his heart had just begun to knit together, and every moment he spent with her tested the seams.
She moistened her lips, looking up at him with big brown eyes.
Sean pulled his gaze away, his chest tight with longing. He still wanted her, but he wouldn’t act on it. If he did, she would withdraw from him. Turn to the side, twist out of his arms, avoid his touch.
He had to stop fantasizing about getting back together with her, and torturing himself by imagining passionate make-up scenarios. It was time to face the facts. She wasn’t going to melt in his arms, sobbing that she couldn’t live without him.
She would never arch her luscious body against his, rake her nails down his back or pant softly into his ear.
If he reached for her, she would only pull away again.
Chapter 8
T hey didn’t watch the footage
“I’m on my way out,” she said, her voice husky.
He ducked his head in. “Can I talk to you?”
“Of course.” Her eyes were dark and luminous, her hair wind-tossed and her cheeks flushed from the time spent outdoors. She sat down at the desk with her hands in her lap, waiting for him to speak.
There were no other chairs, so he took a seat on the lower bunk, hunching his back to keep from hitting his head against the upper frame. It was awkward, but it wasn’t as bad as towering over her.
The situation reminded him of their counseling sessions.
For six months after the accident, they’d gone to a grief specialist. At the end of each session, the therapist had asked him to turn toward Dani for “sharing time.” Sean had always made eye contact and listened carefully, but he’d never known what to say.
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving his gaze from her clasped hands to her beautiful face.
She moistened her lips. “For what?”
In the past, his answer might have been, “For whatever I did wrong,” or, even better, “For upsetting you.” While perfectly acceptable, in his mind, those responses hadn’t gone over well with her. This time, he dug a little deeper and told her what he was really sorry about. “For not being there for you,” he said, meeting her eyes.
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. Tilting her head to one side, she asked, “What do you think you could have done?”
“Taken your place,” he said immediately. “You shouldn’t have been driving.”
Her brows drew together. “I suppose you think you could have avoided the SUV spinning out of control across the freeway.”
“No. I meant I wish it had been me. I wish I’d been hurt, instead of you. I’d have done anything to take your pain.”
“Sean—” She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut. The tears spilled out anyway, wetting her thick lashes.
He knew he was screwing this up, the same way he had everything else. His own throat tightened, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her again. But he continued, needing to have his say. “I’m also sorry if you were scared while I was out in the water. I know what it’s like to go crazy with worry. When you were in the hospital, I went through hell.”
“Yes,” she murmured, drying her wet cheek with one shirtsleeve. “Taryn told me how distraught you were. Did you cry on her shoulder?”
Actually, he’d cried in her lap, but he didn’t want Daniela to know that. He was ashamed of his helplessness, his loss of control and lack of strength. God, he’d been a wreck after the accident. He was glad she hadn’t seen him like that.
“There’s nothing between Taryn and me,” he said, feeling heat creep up his neck.
She stared at him, probably wondering why he would say that. He didn’t know himself. Letting her believe he was involved with Taryn had been a defense mechanism, an attempt to hide the truth from her.
He would always feel vulnerable around Daniela.
The day she’d signed the divorce papers had been the second worst of his life. Even now, a year later, his gut clenched at the memory. The torn-up pieces of his heart had just begun to knit together, and every moment he spent with her tested the seams.
She moistened her lips, looking up at him with big brown eyes.
Sean pulled his gaze away, his chest tight with longing. He still wanted her, but he wouldn’t act on it. If he did, she would withdraw from him. Turn to the side, twist out of his arms, avoid his touch.
He had to stop fantasizing about getting back together with her, and torturing himself by imagining passionate make-up scenarios. It was time to face the facts. She wasn’t going to melt in his arms, sobbing that she couldn’t live without him.
She would never arch her luscious body against his, rake her nails down his back or pant softly into his ear.
If he reached for her, she would only pull away again.
Chapter 8
T hey didn’t watch the footage
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