Despite his worry over that, he wanted to hear more about this new job. Music broker. What did that mean exactly? Would she be traveling a lot? Was it Seattle-based? How excited was she on a scale from one to ten?
“You’ve definitely made a lot of decisions since I left,” he said, keeping his questions to himself. Very soon, they wouldn’t be any of his business.
Hannah studied his face. “Looks like you’ve made a lot of decisions, too.”
“Lord, the undercurrents are a-flowing,” Christian muttered, regarding them. “I’m going to go make fun of the interns. You folks have fun working this out.”
Silence landed hard as soon as they were alone.
His brain repeated the speech he’d practiced on the walk through town. I’m sorry. You are amazing. My best friend. But I can’t ask you to move here. I can’t make this work.
His mouth said, “You look incredible.”
“Thanks.” She forced a smile, a fake one, and he wanted to kiss it right off her mouth. You don’t fake anything with me. “Are you going to break up with me here or somewhere a little more private?”
“Hannah.” Shock made her name sound ravaged, and he tuned his face away, unable to look at her. “Don’t say ‘break up.’ I don’t like how that sounds.”
“Why?”
“It sounds like I’m . . .”
Pushing you away. Severing our connection.
Oh God, he couldn’t do that. Might as well ram an ice pick into his heart.
“Can we mutually agree on this, please?” Fox asked, his lower body coiling tight when someone in the crowd nudged her closer, bringing the tips of her breasts up against his chest. Momentarily, he lost his train of thought. Was she even wearing a bra with that dress?
What had he been saying?
“If we both agree on this”—he swallowed the word “breakup”—“change of status, then we can stay friends. I need to stay friends with you, Hannah.”
“Mmmm.” The hurt she was trying so desperately to hide—chin lifted, gaze unwavering—gutted him slowly. “So when I come to Westport for a visit, we’ll hang out like nothing ever happened. Maybe listen to my Fleetwood Mac album?”
It took him a moment to speak. To form a response. Because what could he say to that? He’d confessed the truth to her at the Sound Garden.
I had it bad for you. If the convention didn’t make it obvious, I thought for sure the Fleetwood Mac album would do it. I’ve got it so bad for you, Hannah.
Really . . . really bad.
Was she remembering those words, too? Is that why she raised her chin another notch and delivered yet another blow to his resolve? “Look, I’m not going to fight you on this, Fox.” She rolled a delicate shoulder. “You’re ending whatever this was developing into and that’s fine. It’s your right.”
He watched helplessly and miserably as she wet her lips.
What happened now? They just walked away from each other?
Was he really strong enough to do that?
“Could you do one last thing for me?” she asked, brushing their fingertips together ever so slightly.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, his temples beginning to pound.
Hannah tilted her head, and he eagerly memorized the curve of her neck.
“I want a good-bye kiss.”
Fox’s eyes flew to Hannah’s, lust racking him, along with . . . panic. Flat-out panic. No way he could kiss her and leave it at that. Was she aware of how difficult that would be? How impossible? Was that her game? Her expression was so innocent, it didn’t seem possible. Nor was it possible to deny her request. To deny her anything.
He’d kiss her here. In public, where it was safe.
Right.
Like anything about touching her was safe when he was on the verge of breaking. Shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.
Fox licked his lips and stepped closer to Hannah, his hand settling on her hip as if magnetized. His thumb encountered a very slight shape, almost like a . . . tiny strap, and he looked down, watching his fingers feel it out. “What panties are these?”
“I don’t see how that matters. This is just a kiss.”
It’s a G-string. I know it’s a fucking G-string.
Jesus, she’d look so hot in it.
“Right.” He exhaled, pulse hammering at the base of his neck. “A good-bye kiss.”
“That’s right.” She blinked at him slowly. “For closure.”
Closure.
Case closed.
That was what he’d decided. That was what needed to happen.
She’d thank him someday.
Her mouth was so soft-looking, lips parted just a touch, waiting for him to place his own on top of them. One kiss. No tongue. No tasting or he’d be a goner, because no one on the planet had her perfect flavor, and he needed the memory of it to fade, not grow stronger.
Nice try.
The memory of her is never, ever going to fade.
Fox, apparently self-destructive, lowered his head anyway, desperate to get his fill of her one last time—