It wasn’t normal. Admittedly, she’d never been in a serious relationship before—after Sandra she’d kept everything casual. But she’d never felt anything close to this with any of the men she’d seen before Kevin. Sex with them was pleasant, enjoyable, but certainly not mind-numbing. It was nothing like the soul-searing, body-tingling, explosive experience she had whenever Kevin put his hands anywhere near her.
And he loved her. She knew it, deep down, which is why four days after she’d left him she still couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for anything, even her work. The photos were due in four days and while she now had the negatives developed, she was no closer to organizing them than she’d been when she was out in the bayou.
The phone rang, but she made no move to answer it. It was probably Steve, calling to harass her about her photos for the gallery showing and she just couldn’t deal with him right now. Wishful thinking had her listening eagerly for the answering machine to pick up, hoping and praying that it was Kevin. But he hadn’t called in three days.
By the time she’d gotten home, a little over three hours after she’d left him sleeping, there had been three messages from him on her home answering machine and another four on her cell phone. Demanding to know where she was, if she was all right, why she’d left the way she had.
The calls had continued all evening and most of the night and she’d ignored every one of them, too raw and hurting to try to explain what she’d done and why she’d done it. She’d suffered hugely as she’d listened to his hoarse, desperate voice on her answering machine. Begging her to talk to him, to let him know that she was all right. Not picking up the phone and blurting out all of the confusion and pain and need inside of her had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
But she’d refused to cave and sometime early the next morning the calls had stopped. The only time the phone had rung since was when Steve wanted to bug her or when the police called to fill her in on what was happening with Jack.
She shivered just thinking about him, remembering how crazed he’d looked standing in Kevin’s kitchen, calling her by her dead sister’s name. She’d come from that, had all that ugliness inside of her. She had scars on the outside from the knife he’d plunged into her over and over again, but they were nothing compared to the scars she carried on the inside. Rage, bitterness, agony seethed right below the surface, the rigid control she kept on herself the only thing keeping them from boiling over onto every part of her life. Kevin threatened that control and she was terrified that if she let go the darkness of the past would destroy them both.
Staring blindly at the negatives, Serena replayed her thoughts, knowing that she was on the brink of a major revelation. And when the truth hit her, it was so simple she could barely process it. She wasn’t afraid of Kevin or obsessive passion for one another, she wasn’t even afraid of losing the real Serena inside the maelstrom of emotion he called from deep inside her. No, she was afraid of losing control and having all of her past, all of the darkness inside of her, boil up and onto Kevin. He made her lose control, he shook her to the very foundations of her being, made her happier and sadder than she’d ever been in her life.
Tears slid silently down her face and she wiped them away as she continued down the path her thoughts had turned onto. He took care of her, held her when she cried, loved her when she couldn’t love herself. Protected her when she didn’t know how to protect herself. Could she do any less? Kevin loved her, but loving her wasn’t good for him. She was dangerous, an emotional black hole. And she was so afraid that she would absorb Kevin into her, destroying him for all time. Already, in the short time they’d known each other, he’d put his life on hold to take care of her—he’d held her when she cried, loved her when she’d begged, saved her life when she couldn’t save herself. If she loved him, how could she subject him to a life like that?
She couldn’t. The answer was as simple as that. Which is why she’d run away as fast as possible. Why she’d dodged his calls. Why she’d holed up in her apartment with the blinds closed as she nursed her misery. Because it was best for him.
She reached for a tissue and blew her nose as a sense of resolve filled her. She could do this. She could cut all the ties between Kevin and herself. Not for her, but for him. So that he could live a healthy, happy life without her.
With a heavy heart, but a renewed sense of purpose, she settled down with the negatives. Not because he was dying for any glimpse of Kevin she could get, but because she had a job to do. And if she could give him nothing else, she could give him the best damn book he’d ever seen.
* * *
Kevin slammed his blowtorch onto the workbench, heedless of the damage he was inflicting on one of his most important pieces of equipment. He’d never been more miserable in his life. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work. Couldn’t close his eyes without picturing her face, couldn’t walk around his house and studio without thinking of every single place they’d made love and every single place he had yet to take her.
Damn Serena for doing this to him. For making him love her and need her and then running away without a word. He’d spent the first twelve hours after she’d left calling her every five minutes, desperate to hear her voice. When that had failed, he’d driven to Baton Rouge to make sure she’d gotten home safely. When he’d pulled up at her condo and seen his truck parked in the driveway, he’d never been more relieved. Or more furious. He’d wanted to storm the house, to demand that she see him, speak to him, tell him why she’d left. How could he fight for her when he didn’t know what he was fighting against?
He’d been halfway to her door before he’d stopped himself, halfway to knocking the door down before the truth hit him. He couldn’t make Serena love him, couldn’t make her want to be with him. He’d done everything in his power to show her that she could trust him, done all he could think of to show her how much she meant to him. How much she would always mean to him. Now it was up to her to decide what to do. If she needed time to make that decision then the least he could do was to give her that time.
But it had been seven days since she’d left, seven days since he’d spoken to her, held her, loved her. And she hadn’t come back. Two days ago his truck had been delivered, along with a note from Serena thanking him for its use. Polite, to the point, and completely impersonal. He’d read it over and over, while the need to shake her grew stronger with every second that passed. He hadn’t deserved that stupid, impersonal note, hadn’t done anything to her but love her and try to take care of her.
He smiled bitterly, turning the smooth piece of whittling wood over and over in his hands. Hadn’t done anything but rush her, but try to make her fit into the mold he had created for her. He shook his head, shocked and angered at his own stupidity. He loved Serena, with all of her baggage and all of her quirks. He loved how when she smiled, really smiled, it came from within and lit up her whole face. He loved that she’d faced down her biggest nightmare, as cool and collected as if she were going to a garden party. Loved that she’d been smart and quick enough to stab a fireplace poker through Jack without batting an eye. Loved how she defended him. Loved her strength and her softness. Her passion and her control. Her stupid button-up shirts and the amazing lingerie they hid.
Why then had he tried to change her? Why had he tried to rush her, to force her to make a decision that she wasn’t ready to make? He knew she had to think things through, had to measure the good and the bad points. Yet he was so used to getting his own way, so used to running over any obstacle in his path, that he’d used the techniques of a lifetime on the woman he loved.
He was an idiot. An absolute, total f**king idiot.
His gaze fell on the sculpture he’d made of Serena. Two nights ago, drunk and half-mad with pain, he’d tried to destroy it. Had planned on smashing it to bits. In the end, of course, he couldn’t do it. Too much of her, too much of him, too much of them was in that sculpture and if that was all he’d ever have of her, then he would cherish it. Once he got over the crushing pain of her desertion. Of his own stupidity in trying to push her into something she wasn’t ready for.
What was he going to do if she didn’t come back? How would he learn to live without her?
He glanced out the window, his heart jumping as he saw a car making its way down the driveway. Had she come back to him? His heart beat faster and his eyes narrowed as he strained to clearly see the car. But his heart sank when he got his first clear look—it was a bright red convertible with the top down, a car so different than his cool, controlled Serena would have chosen that it existed in a whole different realm.
Damn the tourists and their stupid desire to see the bayou. If they couldn’t follow a map, not to mention the signs marking the main road, why the hell did they come? He was sick of chasing them away. Maybe he’d get a big, mean dog. Two dogs. And post huge beware of killer dogs signs all along the road. Surely that would discourage the idiots.
But the car bypassed the main house, continued down the rough driveway to his studio. He walked onto the porch to get a better look and his mouth dropped open when he saw Serena park the car and slowly unwind her long, curvy body from the driver’s seat.
She stretched, arching her back and extending her arms above her head. Her lush br**sts pushed against the low-cut neckline of her hot pink blouse, threatening to pour over the top at any second. Her short, blond hair was windblown and sparkling earrings dangled from her ears. His eyes narrowed, even as his c**k hardened predictably at all that smooth, glorious skin on display. Who was this blond bombshell and where was the woman he loved? He studied her through slitted eyes, searching for some sign of the Serena who’d left here one week ago. He found it in her wary eyes and uncertain smile as she turned to face him.
“Hey,” she said.
He raised one sardonic brow. “Hey.” Just because he’d admitted to himself that he was partially to blame for her disappearing act didn’t mean he had to make it easy for her. Plus his tongue was tied in so many knots he didn’t think he could get another syllable out of his mouth anyway.
She reached in the car to get her briefcase and he nearly groaned at the way the long, slim skirt molded her fabulous ass. He turned and headed back inside before she noticed him looking. Before he embarrassed himself by coming at the mere sight of her.
Though he hadn’t issued an invitation, she followed him, her thin, stiletto heels tapping sensuously against the wood of the steps. He bit back another groan. Was she trying to kill him?
“Kevin?” Her voice was uncertain as she tried to capture his attention. Like he wasn’t aware of her with every cell of his being.
“Yeah?” He turned to look at her, steeling himself as he did.
She swallowed, clasping her hands tightly in front of her before taking a deep breath. “Do you still want to marry me?”
His heart stopped, literally stalled in his chest as he looked at her beloved, bewildered face. “What did you say?”
She cleared her throat. “Do you still want to marry me?” The words were evenly spaced and he noticed that annoyance was beginning to replace nervousness. Good. At least he could recognize that much of her.
He tried to hang on to his self-righteous anger, tried to remember the fear and hurt that had raged through him for the past week. But with her standing there, looking so vulnerable and beautiful, so different and yet so very much the same, he couldn’t think of anything but having her in his arms. “Yes.”
A huge sigh escaped her, even as the first real smile of the day bloomed across her face and she headed toward him. “Thank God. Then I accept.”
Both brows raised before he could stop himself. “Why?”