He buttoned up his shirt and put on his socks and boots but still he didn’t go downstairs. He’d give them the time they needed. A smart guy didn’t get involved in messy marital mishaps in the first place. Too late for that. The least he could do was to resist going all macho by demanding Karyn fawn over him instead of her husband.
Her goddamn husband.
He’d come close though. Real close. When she’d labeled him a friend and that cool expression had overtaken her face, replacing the passion she’d exhibited so freely all night long, he’d forced himself to take a giant step back. She wasn’t his problem. She was just a woman he’d slept with.
Right.
At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he stood. Only when he realized exactly how overeager that made him seem did he manage to sit his ass back down and wait.
Karyn entered t
he bedroom with halting steps, as if she expected him to be spoiling for a fight. Though she didn’t lurk in the doorway, she kept a healthy amount of space between them, more than there had been at any point yesterday. Including at the coffee shop when they’d been total strangers.
Figured that now she wanted her distance.
“You’re still here,” she said, slipping her hands into the pockets of her robe.
“I’ve outgrown climbing out of bedroom windows with my pants around my ankles.”
“Too bad. I think the neighbors could use some shaking up.”
The absolute rawness of her voice weakened the resistance he’d built up inside him. Thought he’d built up, anyway. To keep from hauling her into his arms, he studied her. The resolute set of her chin, the shadows under her haunted eyes, the ramrod posture she maintained as if she’d shatter unless she held herself perfectly straight.
She was so much stronger than most of the women—hell, most of the people, period—he’d known. The tears that sheened her eyes didn’t diminish his opinion. Far from it. He wanted to congratulate her.
Finally.
Finally she’d opened the window to the feelings she’d tamped down for so long. During their long conversation last night, they’d covered plenty of ground. She’d said over and over she didn’t cry. Declared it, actually, as if it were a badge of honor. Weeping wasn’t therapeutic, merely draining. She didn’t need to sob over things she couldn’t change. What good would it do?
Yet here she stood, lips trembling, looking so valiant he wondered why he’d never seen tears as irrefutable evidence of strength before.
She wasn’t running away from anything. She was facing it head-on. Not burying herself in work or other people’s lives. Just living in the moment and dealing with whatever came.
He fisted his hands on his hips and waited for his heartbeat to level. When it didn’t, he gave in. Fuck it. “I don’t want you to go back to your husband.”
“Not even for your sister,” she said, her tone hollow.
“No. She needs to make her own choices. I’m past trying to fight Daisy’s battles. Guess I just needed that reminder.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Jeff held her gaze. “Just because you’re so fucking strong you make my teeth ache, don’t expect to get the same from me.”
He didn’t expect a smile. “Strong? I’m trying to let myself be weak. To not deny I feel—” She stopped, shook her head. “Just that I feel.”
“Feeling can be pretty damn tough.”
She came over to sit beside him on the bed, her terry cloth-covered thigh bumping his. “Yes, it can.”
The silence grew between them. Painful, aching. Full of way too much, considering twenty-four hours ago he’d barely been aware of her existence.
She reached over and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. Whether the gesture showed solidarity or was simply her way of saying goodbye, he didn’t know.
“You’re too good for him.”
He didn’t look at her. Not when their linked hands were so fascinating. Not when he knew he’d never be able to speak if he looked into the face of all that strength and smacked head-on into his own lack.
“I don’t think I’m as good as I thought. But I appreciate you being…” Her fingers twitched in his. “A friend. I haven’t had one of those in a while.”