Finally, Wren looked up at him. “That’s good. Looks like you got your hands full.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I THINK I should go home tonight.”
Even in night’s shadows, Wren could see Lee’s disappointment. They sat in her Mustang in his driveway. She’d let him drive home — he’d bounced in the driver’s seat like a seven-year-old, cheering as he revved the engine — but now he was putting it together. Letting him drive was her way of softening the blow. She’d agreed to sleep over — she’d offered to sleep over — and now she was backing out.
But the evening had been strained, to say the least. Wren knew Mamaw hadn’t meant to, but her grandmother’s ridiculous behavior had only reinforced the truth. Mamaw Gigi was over-the-moon to have Lee to dinner because he was so far out of her league.
And then Wren had to go all catatonic when he’d asked about that damn apartment. They were lucky she hadn’t run screaming out the front door. She knew Lee thought she was tough, but he’d come dangerously close to seeing her max out. She needed to regroup before she did something stupid.
He studied her for a moment. “Please come in.”
Wren shook her head. “Not tonight.”
Lee held her gaze. “Give me a chance to change your mind.”
Wren had to smile at his persistence, but she wasn’t going to bend. “Another time.”
He drew a breath to speak and worked his jaw for a moment, seeming to weigh his words. Then he took Wren’s hand in his. “You know we don’t have to do anything, right? I mean, I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to,” he said, looking almost pained. “I just want to be with you.”
Wren gave a mirthless laugh. “So, what? We’d just cuddle?”
“Yeah.” The left side of his mouth curved up in the most bewitching way. “That sounds awesome.”
Wren laughed again. In her twenty-five years on the planet, she’d never just cuddled. That wasn’t why men got into bed with her. Everything in her experience had taught her that when a man got into bed with her, he wanted one thing, and if she didn’t want that same thing, she had no business lying down with him.
“Gimme my keys.” She held out her hand to Lee, and she was grateful he didn’t hesitate. Wren was out of the car in the next second, but she stood back and kept her distance while Lee stepped out of the driver’s seat.
He had no problem reading her intentions. He closed the Mustang’s door, leaned against it, and folded his arms across his chest, blocking her retreat.
“What did I do, Wren?”
She expected him to look angry, but something softer filled his eyes. Was it regret?
“Nothing. I’m just tired,” she lied.
Lee pulled in a deep breath and held it before letting it go. He watched her. “I’m going to be honest with you,” he said, his voice even. “I have a twenty-four-hour shift tomorrow, and I need a good night’s sleep—”
“Good, go get i—”
“I’m not finished.” He squared his shoulders and pitched his voice lower, silencing her. “I need a good night’s sleep. And the thought of not seeing you until Thursday or even Friday physically hurts—”
The sound of her startled breath rasped between them. Lee dropped his hands and pressed his palms against her car.
“So I need you to kiss me. And I mean really kiss me so that I know we’re okay. So I know that this isn’t you trying to push me away again. And I’ll know that come Thursday or Friday, you’ll let me see you.”
His fearlessness wrecked her. Where did he get the power to just say those things aloud, when, at the moment, she could say nothing.
Wren swallowed and took a step toward him. He didn’t make her come any closer because he was off the car and on her in the next instant. The crush of his lips against hers and the greedy way he held her face told her just as much as his words, demanding from her every reassurance that she was with him.
And she wanted to be with him. She wanted it more than anything.
She gave as good as she got, but, in the end, Wren pulled away first. Because wanting to be right for Lee and being right for Lee were two different things. She pressed against his chest to move out of his arms, but he tightened them around her.
“I’m letting you go right now, but you’re going to have to tell me eventually.”
“Tell you what?” Wren managed, stuffing the fear down her own throat and giving him her toughest tone.
“You know what.”
“Goodnight, Lee.”
He loosened his hold and moved his hands to her elbows. “Call me when you get home.”
“I don’t—”
His grip tightened. “Call me when you get home so I know you’re all right, and I can get some sleep.”
She let go a sigh. “Fine.”
He pulled her close again and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, beautiful Wren.”
And then he stepped back and opened her door for her. Feeling every inch a loser, Wren sunk into her driver’s seat, started the Mustang, and drove home.
Agnes met her at the door, mewling insistently, so Wren locked up and fed her cat. While Agnes ate, Wren leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at her phone.
If she called Lee, he’d want to talk. She loved talking on the phone with him, but he was too good at reading her. A shudder rolled off her shoulders as she thought of his questions. Better to text.
Wren: I’m home. Get some sleep.
She set the phone down on her counter.
Nothing happened. No call. No text. Maybe she was safe for the night.
It was ridiculously early, but Wren wanted to crawl into bed. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, but she might be able to work on a tattoo design and escape her thoughts. Wren went to her bathroom, took out her contacts, and washed her face. She put on her glasses and avoided the coward who looked back at her in the mirror.
In her bedroom, she found her white, cotton, shift nightgown. It was sleeveless and timeless, and it would breathe around her. Wren stripped down to her panties and pulled it on, sighing as it fell over her skin, cool and loose. Sitting in bed with her sketchbook and Agnes was exactly what she needed.
She went through her apartment, gathering her book and her pens and begrudgingly picking up her phone on the way back to her room.
No calls. No texts.
This surprised her, but maybe Lee had seen that she’d gotten home and let himself go to sleep.
“The thought of not seeing you until Thursday or even Friday physically hurts.”
The memory of those words sent a tickle down her spine. Climbing into bed and settling against her mountain of pillows, she shook off the sensation. It was only a matter of time.
Every day, she’d expected him to do a double-take, shake his head, and say, “What the hell was I thinking?”
And when that happened, what would happen to her?
Shoving that unwelcome thought aside, Wren flipped through the camera roll on her phone. She had yet to attempt to sketch any of the egrets from their kayak trip. The fourth image in the album caught her eye. The feathers of the male egret’s breeding plumage were sharp and focused, and his neck held a striking curve that captured his grace and beauty.
Beginning with his face, she attempted to capture the far-off look in his golden eye before moving to the grand feathers at the back of his head. Was he seeking his mate? Beckoning the right one to come to him?
“You are perfect for me. In every way.”
Wren closed her eyes at the memory. How had he known she’d been thinking the polar opposite at that moment? Wren hadn’t believed his words to be true, but she’d let herself play with the thought. If she were, in fact, perfect for Lee in every way, then he would have to be perfect for her. And that wasn’t possible, since he was unlike her in so many ways.
He was open; she was closed. He was fearless; she was terrified. He was flawless; she was ruined. He had peace; she had pain. In the throes of their lovema
king that first time, she’d told him the truth. She wanted to be just like him. To be open and fearless and flawless and peaceful.
Was that even possible? And if it were, if she were those things, wouldn’t she then be his true match? Because then she would be free to love him. It would be safe to love him.
But I already love him.
There it was. The real problem. Wren had lived for almost twenty years being closed, terrified, ruined, and pained. She knew how to live that way. She could do that in her sleep — as long as she slept alone.
But, sharing all of that with somebody else? Letting someone else see all of that up close? What would be the point of that?
On Lee’s kayak, Wren had told him that she didn’t believe in love. That was the truth. At least she didn’t believe that love was for her. Of course, she knew that Mamaw Gigi loved her. And Cherise loved her. And Rocky and Shelby loved her. But theirs was the kind of one-size-fits-all love. They loved her as they loved lots of other people. And they could because they didn’t have to limit themselves to her alone.
But romantic love?
Lee was used to the best. If Lee had picked Victor, who’d been the best puppy of the litter, then out of all the women in the world, why in hell would he pick her? Why would he pick ruined when he could have flawless?
And this was the real problem. Because none of that stopped Wren from loving him. At this dooming thought, tears welled in her eyes. The fact that Lee could choose better — and surely, eventually, would choose better — didn’t protect her. It didn’t inoculate her against loving him. She loved him; it was undeniable. And how could she not? He was sweet and funny and warm and real and sexy as hell. And this just meant that when the day came for Lee to realize that she was too damaged to love, she would feel it like nothing else. She would feel it, and it would be like being burned from the inside out.
Wren put down her pen and shut her eyes, sending tears down her cheeks, already sensing that immolation at the center of her being. And with her eyes closed, Wren jumped when her phone buzzed in her lap.
Lee: Are you still awake?
She stared at her phone through the blur of her tears. If she didn’t text back, he might call. And if he called, he’d be able to hear the distress in her voice. Wren wiped her eyes and texted back with sass she didn’t feel.
Wren: Of course. Who goes to bed this early besides you? Sketching an egret.
So, it wasn’t completely true. Technically, she was in bed in her pajamas, and she’d actually stopped sketching to make room for crying, but Lee didn’t need to know that.
Lee: Good to know. Could you come to the door and let me in?
Wren froze. Let him in? She wiped her eyes again.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Lee: Please?
She jumped out of bed and grabbed her robe. Wrapping it around herself and tying the sash, Wren ducked into the bathroom to assess the damage.
“Shit.” Her glasses did nothing to hide the fact that she’d been crying. How was she going to explain herself? And what the hell was he doing here anyway?
Reaching her front door, she slid open the chain lock but paused before opening the deadbolt.
“Lee?” she called through the door. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you… Can I come in?”
Wren pressed her forehead against the door. “But why?”
She thought she heard Lee chuckle. “Because. I want to be with you. Would you let me in?”
Chewing on the corner of her lip, Wren weighed her options. “What if I say no?”
He was silent a moment. “Please don’t say no.” His voice had gone softer, and Wren felt it against her heart.
She wanted to see him. She wanted to let him in, but that would mean explaining her red-rimmed eyes and her general state of unworthiness.
“Please, Wren…” he repeated.
And then she heard a bark.
“Victor? You brought Victor with you?” she called through the door.
“Maybe?” Lee answered, sounding guilty.
Wren turned the deadbolt and opened the door just a crack. Lee stood there holding Victor’s leash in one hand and a backpack in the other.
He raised a brow at her. “You’ll open the door for Victor, but not for— Wait, why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” she said evenly. It was true, technically. She’d stopped crying thirty seconds before.
Lee frowned and took a step forward, but Wren didn’t open the door wider. “Why were you crying?”
Wren quickly shook her head. “No, no, why are you here?”
For a moment, Lee watched her. And then for another, he watched her. Wren felt exposed under his gaze.
“I thought I needed to be here.” He leaned closer into her open door. “Now, I know I need to be here.”
She found herself blinking. “Wh-why did you think you needed to be here?”
The intensity of his gaze didn’t waver, didn’t even flicker. “Because I wanted to sleep with you in my arms.”
Wren’s breath caught, and Lee pushed lightly against the door.
“And now I know I need to be here because you want to sleep in my arms.”
Narrowing her eyes at him, Wren spoke clearly. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Let me in.”
Slamming the door in his face wasn’t an option. Wren knew she didn’t have it in herself to do that, especially since she didn’t want him to leave. Sleeping in his arms sounded like the best thing in the world.
“Fine,” she said on a sigh.
The mix of relief and happiness on Lee’s face only made him that much more beautiful. Even if she was just putting off the inevitable by letting him stay, Wren had to admit that just looking at him now might make her eventual heartbreak worth it.
“Thank you,” Lee said softly, stepping in with Victor at his heels.
The puppy’s ears twitched when he spotted Agnes in the kitchen doorway, but the two had negotiated a tentative peace during the course of the day. Agnes had tolerated — and even enjoyed — his playfulness until she’d had enough, and one hiss or swipe-move had sent Victor scurrying, giving her the distance she desired. A few minutes would pass, and the cycle of play/hiss/flee would repeat itself.
Now, Agnes seemed to set the tone, lying down like a sphinx with her paws stretched in front of her and giving a yawn. Victor padded over, sniffed her once, and collapsed onto his side.
“Glad they’re getting along,” Lee murmured. Then he turned to her, taking in the sight of her. “My God. You look so adorable.”
Wren glanced down at herself. She’d hidden the nightgown and robe behind the door, and now he got the full view. She looked back and raised a brow.
“What do you mean? I’m wearing glasses, a cotton gown, and a house robe. I look frumpy.”
Lee crossed to her and brought his hands to her cheeks. He eased in and pressed his lips to hers, kissing once.
“Not frumpy. You look comfortable…” Another kiss. “…and soft…” And another. “…and inviting…” And another.
She put her hands against his chest. Heat came through the fabric of his shirt, and Wren could feel the contour of his pecs. The temptation to slip her hands under the hem of his tee was almost too much. But if she let him all the way in again, if they made love and he moved inside her and watched her fall apart again with those dark-washed blue eyes that seemed to see everything, her love would only dig itself deeper.
Pressing her palms against him, she looked up into his eyes. “You’re staying. We’re sleeping. And that’s all.”
Lee nodded. “I’m staying. We’re sleeping. And that’s all I need.” He pulled away from her and tossed his backpack over his shoulder. “I’ll just go change.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, and at the sound of the door clicking closed, Victor popped up from his spot on the floor and went in search of his master. When the pup encountered the closed bathr
oom door, he turned his nose up and whined.
“It’s okay, Victor,” Wren said, moving toward him. Agnes followed at her heels. “He’ll come back.”
She scooped up the puppy and carried him into her room. If she tucked Victor in the middle of the bed, he could serve as a kind of chaperone and keep her body from curling into Lee’s. Wren tossed her robe onto the foot of the bed before settling Victor on the quilt against her right hip and picking up her sketchbook.
When Lee stepped into her room, she managed to look completely composed, and she busied herself by adding shading to the underside of the egret’s long neck. Her pen only faltered for a second when she glanced up to see him crowding her doorway in just a pair of sleep shorts.
Looking at his beauty put everything at risk, so she kept her eyes on the page before her, instead of watching him cross the room to her bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lee draw back the covers before the bed gave with his weight. And then, before she could protest, Lee pulled Victor from his nest between them and tucked him on his right side.
“Is that from our trip to the lake?” he asked, nodding at her sketchpad. Lee scooted in beside her, his hip against hers.
“Y-yes. I’m almost finished.”
“Mmm. Take your time. I need to crash, but I can sleep through almost anything.” And with that, he stretched out under the covers, deftly tucking one arm behind the small of her back and settling the other across her middle. Lee then rested his head against her side, his warmth, and his weight tender and impossible to ignore.
Stunned, Wren looked down at the soft curls at the top of his head. “What are you doing?” She tried to sound put-out, but, in fact, the closeness she felt as he hugged her to him threatened to make her tears return.
“I’m falling asleep with you in my arms. Keep drawing. Don’t mind me” he murmured into her nightgown, the words tickling the side of her waist.
She peered forward and saw that he’d closed his eyes. “I can’t draw like this. I’ll knock you in the head with my elbow.”
Lee shook his head, nudging her in the ribs. “No, you won’t. Use my head as an armrest.”
Wren huffed a laugh. “What? No. I’m not using your head as an armrest.”
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