The Regret Series Complete Collection Box Set: Lost to You, Take This Regret, and if Forever Comes (46 page)

I just couldn’t stop myself.

Christian tugged me closer, his body heavy and perfect against mine, fatigued and seeking support.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered against my ear as he pulled me impossibly closer and breathed me in. The heat of his breath licked at my skin, his nearness setting it aflame.

He clouded every faculty, interrupted reason, tempted me to
forget
. I closed my eyes against the sensations and tried to block the resurgence of memories, to ignore the familiarity of his touch. I pushed it all aside and focused on what he needed—comfort.

He clung to me as if his life depended on it.

A warning signal flared somewhere deep within my soul.

Dangerous
.

For once, I ignored it.

Instead, I crushed my chest to his, allowed the rush of relief to surge through my veins, and savored the heat of his skin and the warmth of his body.

Echoes of our past surfaced in my mind, our happiest moments, the way only he could make me smile, the way only he could make me feel, our most intimate times. I wanted to hold onto them, but they fluttered and flickered and gave way to vivid images so strong I could almost taste them—sick, cold, alone—and I remembered why I could never give into this.

Even then
, I didn’t want to let go and allowed myself a few moments more before I placed a hand against his chest and gently pushed him away. He covered my hand with both of his, pressed it over his heart, and smiled at me in a way that chipped away another piece of my armor.

Averting my eyes, I made the mistake of looking down at Lizzie who gazed up at us with the same expression I’d seen Christian wearing the second before—like she’d just been allowed a small piece of heaven.

What the hell was I doing?

Teasing my daughter?

Giving her false hope, stoking her imagination, painting a picture of things that could never be?

I forced myself to take a step back from Christian, gathered up the emotions that were slowly slipping away, and drew another line.

For Lizzie
, I told myself. This was for Lizzie.

I glanced back up at Christian, reminding myself we could only ever be friends—
partners
. Purging the remnants of my desire from my face, I straightened myself and put back on
my mask. I smiled and stood aside. “Go on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Christian inhaled and threw a grin in my direction, lopsided and achingly cute. “You made spaghetti and meatballs?” His voice teemed with appreciation, swam in awareness.

My mask fell, so easily penetrable, evidence of my weakness. I felt my face flush and I ducked my head. I knew how obvious I was in preparing his favorite dinner just as I had prepared his favorite breakfast the morning after Lizzie’s fall.

“Yeah, I figured you’d be starved after the long flight,” I mumbled toward my bare feet, shrugging to make less of it than we both knew it was.

I looked up in time to see his lopsided smile spread. “You have no idea how good that sounds. I haven’t eaten all day.” Turning his attention to Lizzie, he wrapped one of her tiny hands in his and asked, “What about you, princess, are you hungry?”

Overwhelmed, I hung back and tried to convince myself that nothing had changed as he led her inside.

Christian glanced back at me with a lazy grin. “You coming?”

Sighing, I told myself another thousand lies and followed him inside.

~

“Do you want to talk?”

Pointing the remote at the television, I lowered the volume and let the cartoon Lizzie had wanted to watch play out. She’d fallen asleep about fifteen minutes before, curled up in Christian’s lap. Her sweet breaths came in soft pants against his chest, rhythmic and soothing in the dimness of the room. He played with the strands of her hair, appearing lost in thought and most likely minutes from sleep.

Glancing at me, he grimaced through a heavy sigh, ran his palm over his weary face, and blinked. “I . . . don’t . . . know.” It didn’t seem an answer to my question but was more a statement of how he was feeling.

If I were in his place, I wouldn’t know what to feel either.

Those unanswered questions formed as lines across his forehead. “I’ve spent so much of my life resenting my father . . . blaming him for all of my problems . . . for every mistake I’ve made.” His brow furrowed as he left those mistakes unspoken, though many of them were glaringly obvious. He snorted through his nose and shook his head. “Do you know he left me a quarter of his inheritance?” He focused on his fingers weaving through Lizzie’s hair while still shaking his head. His words dropped in slow disbelief, maybe even hinting at a newfound respect.

“And the rest of it to my mom.”

“What?” I couldn’t keep my shocked reaction contained.

Christian cut his eyes to mine. In the muted light of the family room, they were dark and mournful.

His mouth twisted and twitched, and he seemed to be struggling to keep his emotions in check. Supporting Lizzie, he leaned forward, wrenched his wallet from his back pocket, and produced a folded up piece of paper from it. With his head bowed, he passed it over to me.

“He’d kept this in his desk.”

Wary of what I’d find inside, I stared at the piece of worn and tattered paper in my palm. I was sure whatever it held had broken a part of Christian’s heart.

Gingerly, I unfolded it, smoothed it out on my lap, and gasped at the simple picture.

Christian must have understood my surprise, must have read in the message the same thing I saw now.

“I can’t remember drawing it . . . or feeling it. I just wish I could.” The words shook as they fell as grief from his trembling mouth. “Damn it,” he suddenly spat, raking his hand through his hair. “He wasted his whole life.”

Again, his expression shifted and the fire behind his words dulled and eased into pain, as if he didn’t know whether to revile his father’s memory or mourn him. “He knew he was dying, Elizabeth. I know it, and he wanted me to know he cared about me.” The sadness poured through him, a mixture of anger and pity and so much regret. “I just wish he would have had the courage to say it to my face.”

Tracing the lettering, I imagined a little black-haired boy drawing it, the concentration he would have had on his face as he worked on the choppy, misspelled letters, the pride he’d have had as he’d given it to his father.

I didn’t flinch when Christian reached out to do the same.

I closed my eyes as he pried my fingers from the page and wrapped them in his hand. “I don’t want to become like him, Elizabeth.” His throat bobbed in unspent emotion. “I don’t want to waste my life. I don’t want to waste
this
,” he stressed as he squeezed my hand.

I laced my fingers through his and blinked back tears. He followed my gaze to Lizzie, and I brought our joined hands to touch the porcelain rosiness of our daughter’s cheek, before I turned back to face the intent in his eyes.

“You’re not.”

A sad smile whispered at the corner of his mouth, and he laid his cheek against her head as a heavy breath fell from his tired lips.

In the stillness, I held his hand, brushed my thumb over his soft skin. I watched as his eyes gradually faded and closed in
exhaustion, listened to his deep breaths even out, felt his muscles twitch as he drifted to sleep.

As quietly as I could, I uncurled myself from the couch, lifted Lizzie into my arms, and carried her upstairs to her bed. I tucked her under her covers and spent a moment adoring the amazing child Christian and I had created, before I kissed her on the forehead.

Then I went into my room and dragged a blanket and pillow from my bed.

I tiptoed back downstairs to find Christian had slouched and sank deeper into the crevices of the couch. His arms were sprawled out, his body relaxed.

My stomach clenched in both pain and desire.

Why did loving him have to hurt so much?

Putting the linens aside, I crouched to untie his shoes, pulled them from his feet, and lifted is legs to lay them across the couch.

He stretched and groaned incoherently as he shifted, pulling at the twines twisted around my heart.

As gently as I could, I maneuvered the pillow beneath his head, shook out the blanket, and spread it over his body. I hesitated as I leaned down to pull it to his chin.

So beautiful.

His mouth had dropped open, just enough that he expelled soft breaths of air against my face, sweet and distinctly man, his long black lashes casting slight shadows across his face.

I leaned in further and let my fingertips wander over the day old stubble along his jaw, ran them tenderly over his lips—wanted what I couldn’t have.

So, like a fool, I stole it and pressed my lips to his, knowing he’d only be mine for a few moments.

They were hot, damp, and perfect; they scorched my skin and brought tears to my eyes.

A tremor rolled through my chest, stuck in my throat, and shook my body.

I took a little more, held his face in my hands and in my desperation, kissed him deeper—tasted my tears and the sweetness of Christian’s mouth—flirted with disaster.

Why
? I begged him with my thoughts, with my touch as I kissed him again.
Why did you have to ruin us
? My mouth traveled to his jaw, kissed him there against the rough skin, fire against my lips and torment to my soul, where I mouthed out my deepest secret,
“I love you, Christian
.”

Sickened and ashamed, I ripped myself away, escaped upstairs, and wept for a man I’d never allow myself to have.

Grabbing my things, I sighed in satisfaction, thankful it was Friday and another long workweek had drawn to an end. I shrugged on my jacket, smiling at Selina. “Goodnight.”

She grinned and looked at me awry as she dug through her locker. “Night . . . see you tomorrow.” She shook her hips, suggestive and slow.

I giggled and waved over my shoulder as I left her in the break room.

Natalie and her parties.

She’d never let a year go by without planning something outrageous. They were always too much and always
too
fun. She’d invited next to everyone I knew, and I was certain we’d all be paying for it Sunday morning.

Anxious to start my weekend, I rushed across the bank floor as I called goodnight to everyone in the lobby. I came to an abrupt halt two feet from the door when I saw my daughter’s face pressed against the glass door, peering inside.

Her huge smile assured me I had no need to worry.

I laughed, returning her excited wave when she noticed me.

Pushing the door open, I poked my head out. She wore a maroon dress with a satin bodice and a skirt of tulle, wrapped at the waist in black ribbon. The outfit had been finished off with white tights, black patent shoes, and a matching maroon bow tied in her hair.

“What are you doing here and all dressed up?” I asked, grinning.

Lizzie grinned back, twirling away from the door as if she were a ballerina, and I stepped the rest of the way out.

Christian’s voice hit me from somewhere behind, smooth and warm—intoxicating. “We’re celebrating.”

Jerking around, I found him leaning with a shoulder against the bank wall. He wore an almost cocky look on his face, his mouth twisted in casual confidence. He was dressed in a deep-blue collared shirt rolled up to his elbows, the first two buttons undone, and black slacks that looked better than they should.

“I figured since the rest of your family and friends get you tomorrow night on your actual birthday, Lizzie and I get you tonight.” A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, and he pushed from the wall and took a step forward.

Lizzie took my hand and danced beside me as she sang, “Surprise!”

My spirit soared.

This
was the birthday I wanted.

Kneeling beside my daughter, I hugged her while I looked up at Christian. “Thank you.”

He smiled so wide it touched his eyes. “Did you really think we’d let them keep you all to themselves?” He came forward and extended his hand to help me up, once again
igniting the flames I futilely fought to squelch. He froze, just for a second, as a palpable quiver traveled up his arm, and I knew he felt it too.

After I’d kissed him last Friday, I’d felt so ashamed. I was sure he could somehow see the guilt on my face—find in it in my eyes. The next morning, he’d seemed to watch me carefully, attentive to my every move. It was as if he were counting each breath I took and reading every word I spoke. It had begun then, the timid fingertips across my upper arms as he’d leave the room, gentle brushes of skin, testing, tempting. In spite of my promise to myself, my promise to Lizzie, I’d done the same, furtive fingers, roaming eyes—played with fire.

Christian tugged on my hand. “Come on. We’ll follow you home and you can hop in my car.”

Forty minutes later, we walked through the parking lot to the restaurant, swinging Lizzie between us. She squealed and begged us to do it again and again. Christian smiled at me over her head, and I fell in love a little bit more.

All three of us were laughing when we entered the loud, crowded restaurant. Filled with young families with small children, parties and celebrations, it was one of those places people flocked to on a Friday night to unwind, to forget about the week, and to share a meal and drinks.