“Us,” he finishes, sitting next to me.
The tug inside my chest grows and spirals into an all-consuming ache I feel deep into my bones. I can see it now—the love we never knew existed circling us. The love, so pure and real, clouded by reality and lies.
I can’t take my eyes from it, the picture of us. We look perfect. Like we were meant to be there. Like its right—right, right. Wouldn’t-have-it-any-other-way kind of right. It cuts and it hits and it twists inside me. An evil reminder of what we had. What we have. What’s buried beneath the same reality that sliced it apart.
“How did you get it?” I ask softly.
“I called Joel while we were in Italy and asked to see the pictures that weren’t chosen. Then I bought them from him and had these done. They were waiting for me in New York when I got back last week.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “What were you going to do with them?”
He smiles. “What one usually does with pictures.”
“Shut up.” I nudge his arm.
“I was going to hang them in my apartment when you moved in. I know, I know,” he adds at my raised eyebrows. “Presumptuous bastard.”
I can’t help the twitch at the corner of my mouth that pulls my lips into a small smile. “Very much so.”
Aaron takes the canvas from me. “Then you left, and I couldn’t have them at home, so I brought them here.”
“And you’re going to keep them here until you get your way and I move in, right?”
“That was plan B, yes.” He puts it on the table in front of us and leans back.
I pull my legs up and hug them to my chest as I turn, resting my head against the back of the sofa. My eyes find him and I trace his profile, my eyes lingering far too long on his lips and strong jaw. The urge to reach out and rub my thumb across the stubble shadowing it overcomes me, and I tighten my grip on my legs to stop myself doing it.
Even angry at him, I want him. Badly. I want to fold myself into his arms and let the ache in my chest go away, even if it’s just for a minute. I want to feel his heart beating against my cheek and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes me in, savoring me.
“You know, I don’t think you’ve apologized for not telling me,” I whisper, breaking the tense silence between us.
“That’s because every time I try, I can’t find the right words. There’s nothing I can say that will show you how sorry I am.”
“‘I’m sorry’ is a good start.”
He turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “That wouldn’t cut it.”
“It might dent it a little.”
A small laugh leaves him and he slides across the leather seat to me. He closes his hands around my wrists and pulls my arms from my legs. My skin hums, goose bumps coating it, when he lifts my legs and rests them over his.
Slowly, he brings a hand to my face and pushes my hair from my eyes. “Believe me, Day. If I thought ‘I’m sorry’ would even nudge it, I’d have said it a thousand times. Nothing I could say could show you how much I regret it.”
He softly touches his lips to mine. His hand curves around my neck and pulls me closer to him, and his rich, masculine scent envelopes me. I respond to his kiss on instinct, curling my fingers into his collar.
This is slow and tender, filling me with warmth. Tingles spread through my body, reaching every part of me, and they heighten when Aaron wraps his arm around my body and pulls me closer.
This is his apology. And I feel it.
Every bit of his regret, his remorse, his guilt—it’s all perfectly clear in the gentle brushes of his lips. It’s louder and more meaningful than any words, but the ache is there still. It’s still prevalent in my chest. It’s still consuming.
This won’t make it better. This won’t make it go away.
“I have no idea what I’m doing with you half the time,” he whispers, his eyes still closed. “You are the one thing that’s unexpected, the one thing I truly have no power to control. I’m totally winging this, you know that? Like right now, I’m sitting here, completely lost, all the while hoping you’ll walk out that door with me.”
“One kiss won’t change it. It won’t heal my heart, Aaron.”
He opens his eyes, and the brightness of them holds my gaze on his. “I can’t change anything if you refuse to be around me.” He fingers ghost along my neck and collarbone and come to rest above my heart. It beats faster at his touch, and his lips twitch. “I broke your heart, and now you have to let me fix it.”
“What if you can’t?”
“You have to let me try. Please, baby. Let me try and right my wrongs the easy way.”
The easy way. I smile. That’s his polite way of saying, “Let me, or I’ll be forced to make you.”
God, he’s so frustrating and endearing mixed into one annoyingly sexy package.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
He smirks. “Not at all.”
“Fine. You win this time. I’ll allow you to try.” I put my finger over his lips to stop him from speaking. “But if you f**k up, even once, that’s it. I mean it. Everyone deserves a second chance, but you’re not getting a third. And I haven’t forgiven you yet. Understand that.”
He kisses my hand before taking it away from his mouth. “That’s fair. I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
A boyish grin appears on his face. “Yes, I suppose. Now go and put your shoes on. We’re leaving.”
He gets up, and I lean on the back of the sofa. “What if I want to stay?”
“Then we’re going to break up before we make up, and that’s quite the feat.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Come on.”
I mirror his expectant expression when he opens the door and waits by it. “You’re incredibly bossy for someone who’s supposed to be making things up to me.”
I cross the room with a sigh, and he grabs my arm.
“Dayton.” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “I said I’d right my wrongs. Not that I’d stop being a domineering, presumptuous bastard. Now get your pretty little ass into my office and get your shoes on before I carry you out of here without them.”
My mouth goes dry. Oh, this is going to be no fun at all. And judging by the way my pu**y is clenching because of his last sentence, he’s going to get his way sooner rather than later.
I fake a heavy sigh and walk through the door. His hand connects with my ass sharply and I jump and squeal loudly.