Melodie realized that the weight on her neck was her camera. Her hands had gone lax at her sides. Thank goodness she always kept it tethered or it would be on the bottom of the sea by now.
She swallowed, stunned by the depth of emotion that had just detonated out of Roman in a way she could never have expected. It took her a few minutes to recover from her shock, but she finally did and went to find him.
He was in his office, door firmly locked against intrusion.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ROMAN FELT LIKE an idiot—one of his least favorite feelings. Although he’d already been standing there feeling it before he’d behaved like a mother hen on steroids.
Melodie had been right. A part of him had been convinced she wouldn’t last until the wedding, that his aloof persona would drive her away and he’d be without a date at all when the big day happened.
Instead, she’d become such an integral part of his world he feared he couldn’t live without her. As she’d made her facetious little remarks today, he’d heard the hurt beneath. Maybe other women had been as injured by his reserve, but he hadn’t felt an answering pinch in the same way. He hadn’t hated himself quite as much for causing suffering. He hadn’t considered explaining that being nothing more than a file all your life, having your personal details handed from one person to the next, as if privacy was for other people, not you, had left a mark.
Maybe if those details hadn’t made it from the confidentiality of a folder into the mouths of his foster home siblings, he could have withstood it, but the foster parents had always managed to gossip somewhere along the line and the kids had always wound up overhearing. Then the hierarchy of judgment would start. Kids who were abused were rescues. Kids such as him, whose parents were deemed reprehensible, were tarred as worthless.
Oddly, with Melodie he already knew she wouldn’t make those same judgments. But it was the very fact that she wouldn’t, and would more likely try to comfort him, that made it seem an even more painful prospect to open up to her.
So he’d stood there trying to see a way out of the corner he’d painted himself into when she’d distracted him by telling him what she’d done after leaving him that day. After she’d fled like a Victorian maiden ravished by the local duke. Hot, tired, emotionally distressed, she’d done something so irresponsible he could hardly think of it.
Every summer the local news reported on at least one or two deaths in that current. The fact the tide had kept the water low was likely the only thing that had kept her from being a headline and statistic. His blood ran icy thinking of it.
The vibration of the engine stilled. They were at the dock outside his home. No more hiding. He pulled out his earbuds, ceasing to pretend he was working, and gathered himself to face Melodie. Hell, the entire crew had probably heard him tear a strip off her and would stare at him.
He wasn’t entirely sorry. She had been heedless of very real danger, but he was angry with himself, too, for raising his voice. She was sensitive, her thoughts and feelings so easy to read he couldn’t help but trust her.
But he was furious with himself for letting emotion get the best of him. He’d ceased trying to figure out why she prompted such strong feelings in him. All he could do was work to control and hide them.
He cursed under his breath, ran a hand over his face to clear his expression and unlocked the door.
It wouldn’t have surprised him to find Melodie packing to leave him, and she was in his cabin loosely gathering some things that she’d piled on the bed, but she’d stopped to look at her camera. Her hair hung in a loose curtain off one side of her bent head, her lips were pouted into concentration, her thumb working the controls while the rest of her slender height was still.
He couldn’t count the number of times he’d found her like this since he’d bought the thing for her. She loved it, and Roman got a kick of amusement and pleasure every time he saw how much she enjoyed it. Her photos were excellent and she was always fooling around with the settings, reviewing what she’d done, trying to improve. He did the same with his own work and liked seeing her pursue something that gave her so much satisfaction.
“I was worried that you were dragging your feet about telling Ingrid because you weren’t sure if you really wanted me here,” she murmured without looking up, reminding him that the radar between them worked both ways. He rarely sneaked up on her without getting a smile of greeting before he was in touching distance.
No smile today. She didn’t even look at him.
“I couldn’t assume you’d want to be here, not after the way I treated you the first time we were in this house together.” He had barely admitted that to himself and didn’t like saying it aloud. He didn’t want to remind her. She might agree and leave.