Heated Rush - Leslie Kelly [73]
“For free,” he insisted, forcing the words through his clenched jaw.
She cupped that jaw in her hand, holding him still so he had to meet her eye. “I. Don’t. Care.”
Damn.
“I don’t care about your past and I don’t believe you truly think the choices you made when you were practically a kid have any genuine bearing on who you are now.”
There she was wrong. At least, she was today. A week ago, he would have agreed with her. Now, though, feeling the awfulness of it—seeing the way her hand had shaken after he’d told her the truth about himself—oh, yes, it most definitely had bearing.
“I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work.”
“What won’t?”
“You won’t convince me that you’re an emotionless, oversexed user who is only out for money and self-gratification.”
He thrust a frustrated hand through his hair, hearing tenderness in her tone. This was not going the way it was supposed to. Annie should be walking out the door right now.
“I don’t know what you feel for me, but don’t you dare tell me I don’t know my own feelings toward you.” Her voice shook with emotion. “I’m not saying we’re going to live happily ever after, or that you’d ever even want to, but I sure as hell want to give it a try. Because I am falling in love with you, whether you want to believe it or not. And nothing you tell me about your past, your present or your future is going to change that.”
He stared at her, saw the feelings she could not hide, heard the intensity—the certainty—in her voice. And knew she meant it. He was too late. She had fallen for him.
Jesus. This sweet, lovely, genuine woman had fallen in love with him. When he so completely didn’t deserve it. He’d screwed up her life, almost as much as he’d screwed up his own.
“Let me love you,” she whispered, rising on tiptoe to try to kiss him. “Let yourself love me.”
He stepped back, shaking his head.
She followed. “Let it happen.”
He remained as rigid as a statue. Maybe if he didn’t care about her, if his emotions hadn’t been as fully engaged as he believed they had, he could have been weak. Could have let her persuade him that the past could be forgotten and that he wasn’t too sordid to associate with.
But he did care. Far too much to drag her down to his level.
“No, Annie. I’m sorry. I can’t let it happen.”
She was silent for a long, heavy moment, studying him, gauging the truth of his words. Acknowledging his resolve.
Then, after what seemed like ages, she stepped away and nodded once. “I understand.”
At last.
Annie bent down and picked up her cat, tucking him into his cage, then grabbing her own overnight bag.
“Let me…”
She held a hand up, stopping him. “I’m fine.” Turning on her heel, she walked to the door and put her hand on the knob. But before she twisted it, she spoke again, her words not much more than a heartfelt whisper.
“I’ll be waiting.”
And then she left.
11
THE FIRST LETTER arrived two weeks later.
Annie was sitting at her desk an hour after Baby Daze had closed. Everyone else had left, and she was sorting through bills, making up the next week’s schedule. The usual.
Life had returned to normal, busy and fulfilling.
It was not happy. Not yet. Maybe she would be again, but getting over Sean wasn’t proving to be the easiest thing she’d ever done. More like the most difficult.
But then she saw the white envelope with large, spiky black handwriting, addressed to her. It was postmarked from Paris.
And she began to have hope again.
“Sean,” she whispered, touching the tip of her finger to her own scrawled name.
She’d heard nothing from him since that day in his hotel room, when he’d done his damndest to push her away. It had taken every ounce of her strength to let him do it, rather than continue to fight him. But in the end, she’d known she had to.
Only by letting him go—letting him come to terms with his own life—would she ever be able to hope he’d come back into hers.
Annie opened the envelope, and removed the single sheet of paper within. Unfolding