92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [90]
James ignored her and she ignored him. After a few minutes, she could see this wasn’t going anywhere, so she started to stand. His hand shot across the table, stopping her.
“What?” she snapped, shaking herself free. If he wanted to limit his responses to one word, she’d do that, too.
“Stay.”
“Why?” She wondered how long this could continue. Not long, she decided. “Stay? You treat me like I’m your pet dog.”
“Please stay.”
Two words. Well, that was an improvement. Slight, but an improvement nonetheless.
Silence stretched between them. James was the one to break it. “I came because I felt close to you here.”
“I hope you know I didn’t stay away because of you.”
“I realize that. You’ve been taking business and photography classes. Teri told me.”
Her sister the traitor.
James looked directly at her then. “Is it so hard to forgive me?” he asked quietly.
Rather than explain, she simply nodded.
His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry for you.”
Christie raised one hand to her chest. “For me?”
James shook his head sadly. “Haven’t you figured out yet that no man will ever love you as much as I do?”
“Right,” she muttered sarcastically. “Trust me on this, Mr. Chauffeur, plenty of men have claimed undying love, just like you did, and then walked out. You’re no different and you proved it.”
“If you’d be willing to let me have a second chance, I’ll prove otherwise.”
“Sorry, I’ve handed out all the second chances I plan to give.” She sounded definite and sure of herself, but she could feel her resolve weakening.
He hesitated, then shrugged in resignation. “That’s a shame.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m going to regret this, right? Well, I’m way past regret, James Wilbur or whatever your real name is. Way, way past that. I’ve already suffered all my regrets—the day you ran off.”
He nodded and stood.
She flinched involuntarily when he reached out to run his finger down her cheek. His touch was light, a caress. “We would’ve had beautiful babies.” With that he walked away.
She wanted to shout after him that it was a B-movie line—but she was paralyzed, her breath locked in her lungs. When she’d managed to exhale, she vaulted out of her chair and ran outside. James was halfway across the parking lot.
“Wait just one minute!”
Silently he turned to face her.
Christie stabbed her finger into his chest. “That was low and completely underhanded and…and cruel. And you know it!”
Because, clichéd line or not, he’d struck her weakest point—her desire for a baby. He knew this about her because she’d been honest with him, confided all her hopes and failures and dreams. It was the one thing he could’ve said that was guaranteed to send her running after him. If Christie hadn’t been so angry, she would’ve broken into sobs. Her longing for a child had been shoved aside for so many years that whenever it surfaced the ache became unbearable.
James studied her and in the dim light of the streetlamp she saw the tenderness in his eyes. Although she tried to resist, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her against him.
When she finally surrendered, leaning into his strength, James whispered in her ear, “Oh, Christie, Christie, how long until you see I’m not like those other men?”
She so badly wanted to believe him, yet knew she couldn’t. Too many times before, she’d been duped. She couldn’t risk it again.
Still, when he lowered his mouth to hers, she offered no resistance. Sliding her arms around his neck, she yielded to his kiss. His lips were warm and moist as he half lifted her from the pavement. His gentleness made her knees weak and her heart race.
When he released her, she was surprised she was still upright.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” he said. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere, Christie.”
She wanted to argue but couldn’t.
He touched her cheek again, then left her standing alone in the Pink Poodle parking lot.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
If he didn’t know that Faith’s tires had been slashed two weeks ago and that her