by Elise Faber
I closed my eyes and stayed frozen for a long moment, feeling the solidness of the earth beneath, the breeze teasing the ends of my hair. I’d moved from Utah because I’d wanted to experience more of the outside world, to see big things, to live my life to the fullest.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate this.
Nature. Rays of sunlight coating my skin, the whistle of the wind as it flowed through the vines, even the smell of the dirt. It was so similar to my father’s ranch in Utah, so much like the environment I’d grown up in.
In a way, being able to ground myself in this way felt like . . . home.
Would always be home.
The softest scuff of a shoe had my eyes sliding open, blinking against the bright, knowing who would be there even before I saw Aaron standing before me.
I’d known it was him, and still my heart skipped a beat.
I’d known it was him, and still I felt a flash of heat down my spine.
I worked in Hollywood. I worked with clients who had stylists and personal trainers, private chefs and hair and makeup people . . . and Aaron was still the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on.
He didn’t say anything, just stared at me for a long, long time.
I held my breath, waited for the sharp edge of his anger, more harsh words like our last phone conversation, like we’d exchanged in my father’s kitchen.
Lungs burning, I forced myself to suck in air. Slowly, as though I were avoiding a predator who might pounce at any moment—and Aaron had proven to me a month ago that even though a decade had gone by, he still was absolutely capable of turning that razor-like blade of his anger on me—I slid back a step.
“Don’t,” he said, voice intense, almost heavy with emotion.
But I’d already stopped myself, forced my feet to stay in place.
I wouldn’t accept his anger.
Absolutely not.
Ten years had gone by. He needed to shut up and get over it, and we could move forward as two polite, mature adults. I shored my courage, parted my lips to congratulate him on the sheer scope of his business—
“I’m sorry.”
My jaw dropped open.
He took a step toward me, stopped then thrust a hand through his hair. “I’m so damned sorry, Mags. I—” Aaron broke off, paced away.
When more words didn’t come, I found myself asking, “Why? Why now?”
I watched him walk a few more steps away, reveled in the lines of his shoulders, broader now than when we’d been in our teens, exulted in the leanness of his waist, the power of his legs. He’d grown taller, filled out, and yet, he was still Aaron.
I could have picked him out from a mile away. Or maybe that was just because my body was still so in tune with his.
He was near; I was drawn in.
Like planets around the sun.
Aaron was mine.
That was why I’d needed to go. Because if I hadn’t left ten years ago, if I hadn’t cobbled together the strength to leave him behind, I never would have left. Maybe we’d have a family, a house, a white picket fence, but I knew I would never be completely fulfilled, never have this life I’d built. And Aaron—
He spun to face me, and I was momentarily frozen in place by the sheer breadth of emotion traveling through his expression.
Regret. Pain. Despair. Loneliness.
Each one was an impact against my gut, my mind, my . . . heart.
Footsteps echoed across the paved path, signaling he was coming closer, but I was still reeling from the brunt of his emotions, aching from the need to soothe. Gentle hands picked mine up, held them like they were the most fragile piece of crystal on Earth.
“I want to have a good answer for you,” he said, voice rasping along my nape, my spine. “I want to tell you I had this huge ah-ha moment where suddenly everything you said ten years ago, everything you said a month ago, hit me like a load of bricks.”
My throat was tight. “But?”
“But that would be a lie.” His fingers brushed my wrists, tracing little patterns that had goose bumps lifting on my skin. “I was furious when you left. So pissed you were leaving again after you’d gone a decade ago that I couldn’t begin to even process your words.” Another brush before his thumb and forefinger circled the oval of my wrist. “Until I was alone in the quiet bunkhouse.”
I bit my lip, not knowing what to say.
Luckily, I didn’t need to come up with anything, because he continued talking. “I think it was just easier for me to pretend you were the bad guy in leaving than to admit that I’d played a role.”
“I—”
“No, Peaches,” he whispered. “Will you let me say this?”
I inhaled rapidly at the nickname then slowly released the air. “Okay.”
“It was a blow to my ego, for sure. That you managed to leave when it was impossible for me to want to let you go. Except . . . it wasn’t impossible,” he said, “was it? If I’d really loved you then like I should have, I would have come after you. I would have barreled my way back into your life and never let go, no matter what state you were living in.”
“Your mom got sick,” I said, shaking my head. “You couldn’t have . . .” I bit my lip, letting the words trail off as I remembered his fury the last time I’d brought up his mother.
But the fury didn’t come.
Instead, if anything, his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. “My mom would have still gotten sick whether I was here or back in Utah.”
“And college?” I pointed out. “You had been accepted to school at home.”
His hands slipped from mine, sad creeping into his oaky brown eyes. “I didn’t even try for a college in SoCal. I was so inflexible in my thinking that I just assumed I’d be able to bully or cajole or pressure you into staying.” A firm shake of his head. “That wasn’t right. It wasn’t okay. Just like it wasn’t right or okay to be furious with you, to blame you for everything that didn’t work out in my life for ten years. I was inflexible and immature and didn’t take any ownership for my part of our breakup.”
I smiled. “Aar, we were eighteen,” I said. “I don’t think taking ownership is in our DNA at that age, let alone flexibility. I wanted what I wanted, and I wasn’t going to change my mind.”
“Pot. Meet kettle.”
My lips twitched. “Yeah,” I murmured. “We had stubborn down.”
“It was easier to be mad than to accept I missed you but was too damned scared to come after you.”
Breath catching, I studied this man’s face. So familiar to the Aaron of the past, and yet so different. Soft, thoughtful words instead of anger and resentment. Aaron of my past had been wonderful. Caring and sweet, but his stubborn had been edged with mean.
Like my dad.
Except . . . when had my dad ever looked into my eyes and apologized? For anything big or small?
That would be . . . never.
“Why do you stay on the ranch?”
“I thought it was to look after your old man.” He made a face. “My attempt at martyrdom in taking care of something that reinforced my right to be pissed at you. Shirking your responsibilities, not showing up when you should.” I winced and he caught it, closing the distance between us, cupping my face between slightly roughened palms. “No, Peaches. That’s not the point. Because you didn’t do that. You came home for his birthday, for Christmas. You took care of him for as long as he would let you after the heart attacks, paid for nurses he couldn’t afford—Claudette is great and the only person I’ve ever seen to get your father on his back foot, by the way—”
I chuckled. “She is.”
“You were there for your family in a way he wasn’t there for you.”
My gaze darted to the side, and I stepped back. “That’s—He’s—” I shook my head. “I’ve accepted that sometimes the people in your life are just unable to be there for you in the way you crave and that focusing on it, wishing things were different, doesn’t change anything.”
“That’s bullshit.”
I gaped.
“Sorry, but it is. Your dad is as bad as me. Blaming you for something that wasn’t your fault. Your mom died.” I inhaled shakily, and he came to me, placed his hand on the side of my neck. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Bad things happen, but you needed him, and he let the anger of losing her eat through him.” His chest rose and fell on a long breath. “I was the same, and I’m sorry I didn’t understand, didn’t fight for you like I should have. And I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t recognize any of this sooner.”
Pulse pounding, I covered his hand with mine. “A-aaron,” I whispered.
He rested his forehead against mine. “I can’t believe I missed out on all these years because of it, and I can’t believe I’m going to keep missing out because you’re with someone who looks at you right.”
My brows drew down and I pulled back slightly, enough to see his eyes, but not far enough to dislodge the warmth of his palm. Not when it felt so good to have his hand there.
And no, I wasn’t digesting that too closely.
Physical connection and chemistry hadn’t been our issue . . . it was just everything else that had gone to hell.
Anyway, my brain was focused on his touch, but it was also struggling to process everything he’d said. Which is probably why I just blurted, “I’m not with someone.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I’m single.”
“What about Talbot?”
Yes, I heard the slight note of jealousy in his voice. Yes, I felt that gruff note slide down between my thighs.
I shouldn’t have cared.
I should have been thankful for the apology, glad to be able to put a painful piece of my past behind me.
And I was . . . I just also wasn’t sure if I was quite ready to put Aaron behind me.
Behind. Me.
Dear Lord.
The skin over my cheeks went hot, and with our faces so close together, Aaron didn’t miss the flush, and there was no way he could miss my breath shuddering out on a long, slow exhale when I thought of this Aaron, strong and kind, who was touching me gently, who’d apologized, whose broad chest was so near mine, taking me from behind.
Physical. Emotional.
Everything was tangled up together.
“Why are you blushing?”
Yeah, that wasn’t something I was prepared to share with the class.
“Talbot is my client, not my boyfriend,” I explained instead.
“Client?” More brows drawing together, forming a little V I wanted to smooth away with my fingers.
I nodded.
His fingers flexed beneath mine, but I didn’t drop my hand. Stupid? Probably, and yet, I wasn’t quite ready to break the connection.
“My team said he was coming with his girlfriend.”
“That was initially the plan,” I said. “But things . . . well, there was an issue and Kelsey couldn’t come.”
“An issue.”
Since I’d nearly blown it and given away something private of Talbot’s—a huge no-no in my line of work, I just nodded.
“Hmm.” A considering pause. “So, you’re saying you’re single.”
Finally, I dropped my hand, stepped back, nerves ramping at that simple statement. “Yes?” And it was definitely more question than statement.
Aaron smiled, wide and bright and so much like the Aaron of ten years ago that I nearly gasped aloud. “Good, so then you’ll go to dinner with me?”
“That’s not—” I shook my head. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t,” he murmured, coming close again, the spicy scent of man washing over me, his hand coming to my wrist again, but instead of stroking patterns on my skin, I felt something cool and metal brushing against me, rough fingers fumbling for a moment. He lifted my arm, and my pulse sped when I saw what he’d put on my wrist.
My bracelet.
No longer bright and shiny and new.
But back on my wrist anyway.
He leaned close, hot breath in my ear, and whispered, “Don’t think, Peaches. Just feel.”
Except, I couldn’t just feel, not when what was between us had been an aching hole in my heart for years. Not when his apology, his gentle words were still swirling through my brain, trying to make sense of everything he’d just dropped right out in the open.
“Aaron,” I murmured, still shaking my head.
He brushed his fingers over my cheek. “My mom told me you’d kept in touch with her.”
I felt my eyes widen.
“She told me that she suggested you stay away.”
I let my eyes drift to the hills again, to the brown vines, focused on the feel of the wind on my skin, the bright blue sky. “It was the right call.”
“I know,” he murmured. “She also told me to use my powers for good.” A beat. “Right before she told me to call you.” His expression went self-deprecating. “Instead, I texted.”
I frowned, remembered the weird message from the unknown number. “That was you?”
“Yes,” he said on a wince. “I know it wasn’t smooth, but now that I’ve apologized via text and now in person, will you let me complete the trifecta and do it over dinner?”
I shouldn’t.
But as I stared into his eyes, a deep, rich brown with flecks of gold, I knew that I wasn’t going to say no, either.
Accepting the inevitable, I leaned closer, let my chest come very near his. “If I say yes . . . are you going to explain the function of finding the largest number in an array for me?”
His gaze had gone hot—until the last bit of my sentence. Then confusion shone.
“I’ll explain anything you want,” he said. “So long as you let me take you out to dinner.”
I grinned, stepped back so that his hand fell away. “Then you’d better find a math textbook,” I teased, “because you have some studying up to do.”
He tugged a strand of my hair. “Is that a yes?”
Just live.
Could I? Should I?
Hell, it was my freaking mantra. How could I not?
I nibbled at the corner of my mouth. “It’s a yes.”
Another grin that stole my breath, one more brush of knuckles over my cheek that seared my every nerve ending. “I’ll pick you up at seven, Peaches.”
Eleven
Aaron
I shoved my hand, its palm burning from the contact with Mag’s skin, into my pocket when I heard voices coming around the corner, stepping back from Maggie and turning to face the group as they continued their tour.
Talbot was nodding and smiling, but his eyes were on mine, and he lifted a brow.
Probably because Mags had her back to the group.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
A nod, her chin coming up, her shoulders straightening,
I’d seen her do that so many times that witnessing it in this moment was comfortable, almost nostalgic.
She turned, tagged his head of marketing, Jesse, with a look, and then pulled the other woman into a conversation about social media presence. Two seconds later, they were off and running, words like branding, audience demographics, and targeting making me tune out.
Give me spreadsheets any day of the week.
Plus, I had a bone to pick with Talbot.
“You’ve been together for three years?” I asked when he approached. The man was way too pretty, and he knew it, based on the confident smile he slid my way upon being trapped in a lie.
“I said together.” A shrug. “But I never said in what way.”
An equivocation then.
“Hmm,” I muttered. “So, you’ve worked together for three years.”
“She took a chance on me,” he said. “Because of her and her connections, her stubbornness, really”—another award-winning smile here—“she helped me get my big break with Artie’s company. So, when she wanted to branch out, to get into publicity and start her own business, I stuck with her.” A shrug
. “Just like she stuck with me.”
“You two are close.”
“Yes.” Gold eyes narrowed. “You hurt her.”
Guilt.
Fuck, it was a heavy feeling.
“I made a mistake,” I said.
“A mistake?” Talbot’s tone was deadly.
I bristled, even knowing I deserved the derision. “Look, I was a selfish prick,” I said. “I wronged her, horribly, but I don’t owe you any apology or restitution. That, I’m saving for her.”
Respect on the other man’s face. “And have you?” he asked. “Have you apologized?”
“Not that it’s any of your business—”
“It is.” No negotiation in his tone.
“—but, yes. I’ve apologized,” I went on, ignoring the interruption. I hated that this stranger was trying to take me to task, but I could get beyond that, was glad that Mags had someone on her side. Someone who’d have her back. She needed that. “I’ve apologized,” I said. “And I’ll keep doing so for as long as it takes for her to forgive me, for me to make it up to her. I’ll continue to apologize forever because she’d didn’t deserve the shit I shoveled her way.” I inhaled, swallowed hard. “I fucking failed her, and I will not do it again.”
Silence for a long, drawn-out moment.
“See that you don’t.” Then he nodded, face clearing, award-winning smile peeking back out. “Now that’s out of the way, do you know how I can score myself some bottles of wine?”
“Are you going to be the face of Lakeside Lucha?” Not only did I know that Carlos would love Talbot, but I was also confident he’d be up to the task of promoting our company because he was Maggie’s client. And that was enough vouching for me. He nodded and I grinned despite myself. “Then I think I might be able to arrange for some complimentary bottles.”
I rang the buzzer in front of a forbidding gate later that evening, my mouth dropping open as I took in the house and grounds beyond.
Apparently, the PR thing paid good money, if the size of this mansion was any indication.
The gate swung open, and I pulled my car through, parking in front of a three-car garage and eyeing the large double front doors, all mahogany wood and iron, wondering not for the first time since I’d watched Mags drive off with Talbot, if I was in over my head.