"I'M NOT A BOOTY CALL, Travis." Jerking the door open wider, MaryJo allowed her annoyance to show. She'd had it with him. With his endearing smile. His smoldering sensuality. With his charming, sweet kindness—which lasted until the moment he decided to act unkind. Until he reverted back to a stranger. His damned hot and cold personality. After the party, they'd spent the most amazing weekend of her life—together. Nothing could have been more perfect than the forty-eight hours they'd immersed themselves in each other. In harmony. In complete sync with each other.
Until Travis had panicked on Sunday. Stammering about how busy he'd be the following week. Guilt shimmering in his eyes as he made one excuse after another for why she shouldn't plan to see him. Why she shouldn't plan to see him! As though she were a desperate groupie. As though she couldn't possibly have her own busy week planned. As though she'd be pining for him until he called again.
"Where do you get off coming here at midnight? I have to work in the morning," she said. "I'm not the owner of the company—getting to show up any damn time I feel like it." Realizing she was spiraling out of control—railing at him, she forced herself to stop. "I can't do this anymore."
This painful game he played with her. His arrogance at assuming she'd drop everything for him whenever the mood hit. "If you think I'm desperate enough to allow you to swing by whenever the hell you feel like it—just because you want to get laid-" The words froze on her lips as she finally got a good look at him—teetering on the top step, his face in shadows. His burning, feverish eyes etched with despair. "Oh my God—what's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"MaryJo-"
His agonized voice scraped over her, the raw sound so filled with pain, it set her stomach churning. She stepped out onto the porch. "Travis—what is it? Tell me what happened." He stood there, staring at her. Staring through her. As though he were in shock. Unsure how to respond, she took his hand, guiding him into the foyer. "Are you hurt?" Unzipping his coat, she slung it on the banister. Running her hands over him, she searched for . . . something. Injury. Blood.
"Rescue squad tonight," he muttered, his eyes glassy. "A woman-" He swallowed convulsively. "A car w-wreck."
"You treated a woman at a car accident?" Releasing a shuddering sigh, she was grateful he was finally talking. "Is she alright? Did something unusual happen?"
His gaze finally centered on her . . . as though guided by her voice. "She . . . she looked . . . like you."
His voice broke, the anguish tearing a gaping hole in her chest. "Travis—I’m okay. I’m fine. I didn’t even go out tonight. It’s too icy." He tugged her against him, his arms like steel around her as he held her way too tight. His breathing still uneven, he choked in great, ragged breaths. "Travis, are you alright? Do you want to sit down?"
"I-I thought she was you. For a second . . . and I couldn’t-"
Not knowing what else to do, MaryJo held him, standing in the foyer for several minutes until he slowly came back to himself. His clasp finally loosening, he took a step back.
"I’m sorry."
His torment had tears springing to her eyes. "It’s alright." Stroking his back, she felt him finally begin to relax. How could she ever have believed him to be cold? Unfeeling? When the likely truth was—he felt everything. He was just so used to containing it. Smothering it. Until it finally died down into nothingness. Travis had existed for years trying not to feel. She wondered whether this would only be a momentary lapse—or a breakthrough for him. She hoped for the latter. Because he was such a good person. A giving person. With a huge heart he’d tried so hard to crush.
"Come with me." Taking his hand, she tugged him down the hall to her bedroom. Tossing her robe on the chair, she eased him down on the bed. "You need to sleep. We can talk in the morning." His gaze a little less vacant, he nodded. By morning, he’d return to himself. He was intensely private and he’d had a scare. Though she longed for him to open up to her, she wouldn’t take advantage while he was feeling vulnerable. A fierce desire to protect him washed over her. They could talk when he was ready.
Unbuttoning his shirt, she slid it from his shoulders. When he shrugged out of it, she pressed a kiss to the column of his throat. His skin was still too cool. Clammy. As though he’d had a shock. Moving to the foot of the bed, she untied his shoes and slipped them off. Travis roused himself enough to unbutton his jeans. When she pulled back the sheets where she’d been lying alone only twenty minutes earlier, he needed no encouragement.
With the lights out, she crawled in beside him, catching his hand in hers. His fingers tightened convulsively. "They fit."
Though his mumbled words made no sense, MaryJo raised his fingers to her mouth, a smile on her lips as she kissed his capable, sturdy hand. "Everything will be fine."
"MaryJo- "
His sexy rasp crawled over her skin. Turning, she sensed his heated gaze on her. Leaning in, he kissed her, his mouth slowly making love to her. Gently. Tenderly. Emotionally, though he never spoke a word. The magnetic appeal had her stomach liquefying—with need and so much feeling, she was nearly swamped with it. She loved this man. Faults and all.
His mouth drifting to her breast, she gasped when he latched on, the sweet tugging sensation shimmering through her. Cradling his head, she wove her fingers through his dark hair, clutching him as his tongue laved her breasts. Moaning, she moved against him. "Travis—come to me."
He moved lower still, his roughened tongue trailing over her navel, the warmth of his breath caressing the curve of her stomach. Her hips moved against him. Never saying a word, he moved lower, his mouth trailing hot, wet kisses on the inside of her thighs as she clutched against him, barely able to breathe as heat, desire rolled over her. When he finally placed his mouth on her, she bucked against him, her cry startled as his tongue moved lazily inside her. A long, slow moan ended with a gasp as he continued to circle around her. As he took his time, her thighs clenched against him. "Please, Travis-"
Her hands were still clutching the sheets when he moved over her. His eyes bright with passion as he held himself in check, he was hot and hard for her. Staring at her for what seemed an eternity, he finally slid into her.
"Oh my God—MaryJo. I . . . need you. I need this," he muttered. "So . . . perfect." He moved inside her, his gaze never leaving hers as he dipped down to kiss her again. "I need- Us."
Wild with pleasure, his words sent a rush of hope coursing through her. She’d never felt so close to another human being as she did to him at that moment. Travis was—everything to her. Everything she’d ever wanted. Clutching him to her, MaryJo sought more, her nails scoring his back. More closeness. More trust. The build-up, so excruciating. So overwhelming and intense, she finally felt the moment when her release began to contract around him. Sobbing his name, her grip tightened. "I love you, Travis. I love you." Even when he stilled, she whispered the words again, too precious to stop herself from revealing them. He tightened against her, shuddering with his release before he collapsed next to her.
FOR LONG MINUTES THEY didn't move. Travis couldn't make himself move away from her. She was there. In his arms. A solid, comforting weight. Fear tried to leap the fence around his heart. You could have lost her.
Head spinning, he propped himself up on one elbow. His breathing still ragged from the mind-blowing release, he stared at MaryJo, uncertain what had just happened to him. At peace for perhaps the first time in his life, he gazed down at her. Long, silky hair dark against the pillow. Gorgeous lips parted with a smile of pure satisfaction. And her all-knowing eyes, dazed, yet filled with a wondrous light. His MaryJo. She was so beautiful to him. So kind. So open to sharing her life with him. And he’d fought all of it. Every step of the way. "MaryJo . . . I need-" His heart stuttered with a lightning flash of fear. "I-I . . . love you."
Her gaze sharpened, worried. "You don’t have to-"
He stilled her with a kiss. "When I saw that woman tonight . . ." A shudder tore through him as he remembered his terror. "I realized . . . how I felt
. And how a-awful I’d feel if I never had the chance to tell you."
"I'm so glad you did." Her whispered voice sounded on the verge of tears. "I'm so unbelievably happy with you. And . . . I want—I just want you to be happy, too."
Despite the tears flooding her eyes, her smile was radiant. Beautiful. Travis loved her. Loved. And he could finally say it. Without feeling sick with panic. Without being afraid what it meant. In MaryJo's hands, it wouldn't become a weapon. He was certain of it. "I'm happy with you," he admitted, pleasure washing through him as she snuggled closer, resting her head on his chest. Pretty certain.
She fell asleep a few minutes later, a drowsy, whispered 'I love you' on her lips as she drifted away. Grateful to be holding her as his mind replayed the ambulance run that had changed everything, Travis began to relax, allowing himself to float, conscious of everything around him. Her even, settled breathing, the soft sheets against his skin. The low, monotone ticking of MaryJo's bedside clock, the one she insisted she needed to fall asleep. Her beautiful legs entwined with his. His chest felt less constricted, as though an enormous slab of concrete had finally been pried from his ribs. But along with the relief, there was a stab of worry when he drew a breath—as though his body actually felt the loss of a reassuring weight. It had been with him for so long. Burdening him, yet protecting him as well. Now, he was lighter, happier—but exposed. More vulnerable to attack.
His breathing deepening, Travis fought the curtain of sleep a few moments longer. "Maybe, you can do this." Maybe—he could have the whole deal with her. He'd said the words. And meant them. A barrier had fallen away, one he'd nurtured and protected. One he'd painstakingly built around himself. Though he'd lowered the wall tonight, he'd remained intact. Hopefully, that would be enough for her. He could tell her he loved her. And—he could show it. MaryJo would likely be content with that. Maybe—she wouldn't complain about him being too distant. Eventually, she'd grow to accept what he was capable of offering. She could . . . adjust her expectations. Saying the words meant she likely wouldn't give up on him. She wouldn't leave him.
Stretching against her, his sigh was deeply satisfied as he closed his eyes. With this arrangement, he could keep most of the bad stuff buried. Keep it far from MaryJo. His nightmares. He could keep the worst parts of himself safely walled off and no one would be the wiser. Though he may have lost a defensive layer tonight, there was still enough armor to protect himself from the rest.
HAD LAST NIGHT EVER happened? Or had MaryJo dreamed it? With a discouraged sigh, she leaned against the counter, mug to her lips for a first sip of dark roast. When she'd awakened with the alarm, Travis had still been there. A great first sign. He hadn't bolted during the night after remembering his declaration.
Now, he whistled in her shower. Another positive sign. Soon, he would present himself in her kitchen. But if he appeared wearing the same plastered-on smile he'd flashed when she'd risen from bed to shower—she was in trouble. Travis had no doubt been trying to reassure her. Instead, he'd raised warning flags. His default expression, an uneasy charm—a facade that had likely worked for years to keep people at bay. To MaryJo, it was a first indication suggesting he might regret his late night confession. She tried to quell the gloomy voice in her head. "Maybe he only said it because of the car wreck." He'd been so upset when he'd arrived. So afraid. So vulnerable. She'd taken that as a promising sign. A relationship corner had been turned. He'd realized he cared for her. And he'd acknowledged it.
She drew in a sharp breath. Had she taken advantage of him? Startled, she sloshed coffee on her hand. Had she blurted the L word too soon? Should she have waited to see whether Travis' change of heart was permanent? "Would he even have come over last night if he hadn't panicked because of the accident?" She hadn't seen him since he'd fled Sunday.
It didn't take long for her voice of doubt to kick open the hall closet—and leap back into her brain. When would he have come around, MaryJo? "No," she whispered to her empty kitchen. Danielle yawned at her feet, growing bored with her monologue. Absently, she filled their bowls, if only to quell Dani's wails of insinuated starvation.
Falling for him so soon—had been dangerous on her part. But she hadn't said the words for the wrong reasons. Last night had felt so different with Travis. As though he'd truly opened to her—unreservedly. For the first time. His shields completely lowered. He'd been tender. Open. Vulnerable with her. Unable to resist the softer side of Travis, she'd opened the floodgates to him. At that moment, she hadn't needed to hear those words from him. But, she'd absolutely needed to say them.
Now, she wondered. Travis' fake smile earlier had sent a shiver of fear through her as she'd smiled back, pretending she wasn't picking up on his signal flare as she scooped up her clothes and headed into the bathroom. As she'd faked the inability to read his eyes. That I-hope-she-doesn't-ask-any-questions expression. The I-need-to-shower-and-run look.
The unexpected turn of events had tears springing to her eyes while she showered. MaryJo had certainly seen that expression before. In guys who'd changed their minds about her. But she'd never seen it in the eyes of a man who'd just professed to love her.
"God, what have I done?" Staring out the kitchen window, MaryJo wondered whether she'd made a colossal mistake. Travis might not be ready for this. "He may never be ready." Love. Intimacy. Saying the words sent a trace of fear across her skin. Were they back to hot and cold? Was this how life with him would be? One step forward and five steps back? Tender in the sack—and a giant moat around him the rest of the time?
"Shut up, Mojo." Refilling the water bowls, she veered around Danielle's nudging head. Maybe she was over-thinking the situation. Maybe, Travis would stroll into the kitchen, clean-shaven, joking and smelling heavenly. He would kiss her until her knees buckled, before leaving with a sexy smile and the promise he'd see her tonight.
Five minutes later, stomach clenched, game face on as she battled to play it cool, she heard him in the hall. Jacket already on, he appeared in the kitchen. His expression wiped clean—of the scary, fake smile . . . and just about everything else. Travis' beautiful eyes sought hers, but the expression was neutral. Maybe even carefully neutral. She had the impression his brain had already left for work.
"I made coffee for your trip in." You can do this, MaryJo. Play it light. Friendly. Neutral. How she was growing to hate that word.
A half smile. He leaned in to kiss her before accepting the travel mug. "Thanks, Mariela."
"What time should I expect you tonight?"
His smile shifted to regret. "Can't do it. We've got twenty-six days left. I'll be lucky to make it home at all. I don't want to wake you if I'm late."
"No problem." She willed her smile to remain in place. Trailing him to the door, she hung back when he stepped out on the porch. "Good luck today." The I-love-you caught in her throat, a hard, painful pebble she couldn't dislodge. Her words, given so freely the previous night . . . no longer seemed appropriate. Like a beautiful gift, thoughtfully selected for a rare friend . . . before suddenly discovering he no longer cares for you.
As embarrassment trickled through the frozen numbness, she sensed his hesitation. Her humiliation slowly morphed to anger with him. He knew things were awkward. That Travis could say something—but chose not to. Instead, he offered her a wave as he strode down the steps. MaryJo closed the door on the sunny, green-budded, early spring day. Leaning back against it, she waited to hear his engine start before she allowed the tears to fall.
MARYJO'S STRATEGY FOR the unexpected misery that morning had been to call in sick. It was a wimpy tactic. But her eyes were red from crying and her nose was stuffy. Her face was blotchy and she was supremely frustrated. So, instead of analyzing financial statements for a proposed merger, she'd stripped off her suit, thrown on her favorite sweatpants and gone for a long, sweaty run. Then—she'd showered again and made a giant pot of coffee.
"If you're calling in sick, then you're damn well going to finish this stupid hacking project.
" Since her mottled face and bloodshot eyes were best banished from public places today, she could wrap up testing this morning, and type up the reports that afternoon. "And finally be done with it."
Since the reclusive, and in her opinion—not very bright client had confirmed to Sean they didn't want her actually addressing the weaknesses she'd discovered, MaryJo would finish the job and move on. "Who does that? 'Find our weaknesses, but don't fix them.'" Despite the client's foolishness, likely over her father's fee schedule, she ignored the directive. Over the next two hours, she barricaded some of the more obvious gaps in their firewall. Otherwise, she wouldn't have slept at night, knowing the client's tightfistedness had lead to a breach. "What do you want to bet," she muttered, "this client will complain loudest about our failure to prevent an attack?"
With the money she'd earn from this pain-in-the-ass project, she would do something nice for herself. "Like a shopping trip with Jules and Alyssa." Sipping her third cup of coffee, she admitted they'd been right about her. She'd been hiding behind her 'safe' clothes for too long. It was time to dress like the mature, confident (most of the time) woman she was. It was time to embrace her attractiveness—now that she knew she was capable of it.
Perhaps she'd over-reacted to Travis' coolness this morning. Maybe he was having second thoughts. Again. In daylight, his fears would appear far different than they had the previous night—at the smoldering wreckage of a terrible accident. Maybe—this morning Travis felt as though he'd jumped the gun. "It doesn't mean he doesn't care-" Hopefully. "Maybe he's just not ready to admit it.
MaryJo moved to her desk by the window. "Maybe he's just stressed." Over his software release. Whatever Travis felt, she was weary of analyzing it. As hard as it might be to separate herself from his worries, she needed to stop basing her own happiness on his mood. "On whether he decides to show up," she muttered. She needed to stop making excuses for him. Travis had made serious progress in their relationship. "He isn't deliberately trying to hurt you." Yet—it did hurt. His disappearing acts hit hard. Striking at her weakest point. Her self-confidence.
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