Damn if that didn’t make me want to touch and tease her until she was begging for more again. Until she was shattering beneath me.
Then the look in her eyes from that morning flashed through my mind, making my hands curl into fists. I forced away the urge to grab her and take her back to bed, knowing that wasn’t what she needed. Knowing it wouldn’t do anything to help make up for the first three weeks.
She finally noticed me when she was a couple feet from me, surprise filling her eyes at finding me there. “You’re here.”
I knew we had a while before she would stop expecting me to disappear, or stop expecting me to try to give her lessons. But I had no intention of going anywhere, and I would never attempt to give her another lesson. And though I had a dozen things I needed to do for work, they could wait.
“I thought you would want to eat breakfast with me.”
Her mouth curved up into a hesitant smile. “Okay.”
I held my hand out to her and bit back a satisfied grin when she took it to walk with me. “You look beautiful.”
She glanced up at me with a startled gaze before quickly dropping her head to stare at the floor. But the blush that stained her cheeks at my comment didn’t match the pain I’d seen in her eyes.
I knew what had put that pain there.
Or rather, who.
I knew, and I kept telling myself not to ask her. But I hadn’t been able to handle the broken expression in her green eyes during the first three weeks. After last night? I was walking that dangerous line, ready to fall to my knees and offer her anything as long as it took that hurt from her eyes.
“Are you going to tell me?” I asked when I sat in the corner of one of the large couches that faced the lake.
She gave me a confused look as she sat next to me, but didn’t respond.
“What’s on your mind?” I prompted.
“Oh.” That blush was back and darker than before. “You don’t want to know.”
No, I don’t. Because I hate the man you’re thinking about even though I know I can’t keep you.
“Blackbird,” I said, my voice rough as I fought with myself over what I knew she needed and what I couldn’t stand to hear. “Out with it.”
With a resigned sigh, she repositioned herself on the couch so she was facing me but would only stare at my chest. “I have questions . . . I mean, I wanted to ask you something. Or tell you something, I guess.” She looked up at me from under her lashes and waited for me to nod. “I was wondering because of last night—because of what you told me,” she added quickly, “if I could speak freely with you?”
I laughed edgily. “Don’t you already? How many times have you told me that you hate me?”
“Uh, no, not that. Now that I know that you might . . . that you might care about me. Maybe,” she whispered, and looked to me for confirmation.
Words I had learned during training flashed to mind but I pushed them back and, after a few beats, nodded.
She let out a shaky exhale and seemed to think of how to word her next statement for a while before finally saying it on a rush. “I don’t want to kiss you. I don’t want to do anything with you. Last night—last night was . . .” Her anxious stare flashed to mine, her eyes tightening as if she was in physical pain.
I refused to admit that I understood and felt her pain. I refused to acknowledge that I was no longer seeing Briar’s face as her words brought to life something that wouldn’t stay buried.
As I sat there with my arms folded across my chest, clenching my jaw shut and trying to force that mask of indifference, I knew I couldn’t keep lying to myself; I couldn’t keep saying this wasn’t the same.
Because I now struggled to find anything in this situation that was different.
“Well, I don’t know what it was,” she finally continued, her jaw trembling as she did. “But last night shouldn’t have happened. I don’t know if it was because there was still something lingering in my mind from when William came here, or if it was that mixed with you telling me everything you did last night. But for all I know, you lied to me last night to make me think I could trust you so I would progress, or whatever you and William keep saying I need to do.”
My brow dropped low over my eyes. My tone was grave when I asked, “You think I lied to you?”
The pain in her eyes gave way to something else, something I couldn’t understand, but her shoulders sagged as her eyes darted quickly back and forth between mine. “No,” she admitted, her voice nothing more than a breath. “No . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe right now—I can’t even trust my own mind, Lucas.”
My fingers twitched against my sides when that name poured from her mouth. William had to have said it in front of her, but watching those lips twist around my name, I didn’t fault him for it.
She tucked her feet underneath her so they disappeared under her skirt, and nervously brushed back pieces of hair that had fallen in her face. When she spoke again, she wouldn’t look up at me.