He set the glass on the nightstand and eased beside her. “We need to talk.”
“I know. I’m sorry about yesterday and Dorian and—”
“Harlow,” he said, stopping her with a finger pressed against her lips. “What are you apologizing for? I’m thinking about making whiskey a necessary part of your diet. Do you have any idea how handsy you get?”
Wait. “You’re not mad at me?”
A flicker of pain in eyes now dark with regret. “If I were mad, would I have called every guy I know to throw a party in your honor?”
Wait. What? “A party?”
“In your honor.”
“With every guy you know in attendance?”
His fingers curled around the comforter, pulling so tight he nearly ripped the material. “We’re still on the hunt for your forever man, aren’t we?”
It was like taking a knife to the gut. Or a hammer to the head.
He still planned to set her up with someone else.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them away. “When is the party set to begin?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “In just a few hours.”
The hard lump growing in her throat nearly cut off her airway. “How did you get everyone to agree so quickly?” And why the hurry?
“I was owed a few favors.”
And he’d decided to call them in—to get rid of her sooner rather than later. “Well, then. A party we shall have,” she said, trying to sound excited, sounding hollow instead.
He offered her a bright smile, but for once, it lacked any kind of light. “Great,” he said. “I made it a lunch event rather than a dinner one, so we can spend the evening talking about your impression of the guys.”
“Great,” she echoed. “Unless I decide to go home with someone.”
He went stiff as a board. “You will not put out on the first date.”
“Like you can really stop me.”
Ignoring her words, he said, “I went shopping in your RV and picked out a dress, brought it and all your makeup over. You can get ready here.”
“Thanks. A girl couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
“We are friends.” He reached out, ghosted his knuckles along her jaw.
The touch, slight though it was, blindsided her, as always, sending electric pulses arcing through her, making her ache and burn. When would his effect on her fade?
“Friends,” she agreed.
Staring at her intently, he said softly, “I want to be more, Harlow. You know that. But I’m not a forever guy.”
“Why?” Need made her desperate, and desperation made her reckless. “Why do you give so little of yourself?”
He smiled his most indulgent smile, and it made little parts of her die inside, but as she stared at him, she began to notice a brittle edge to the expression. “Honey, I give the best part of me.”
“No. No.” She banged a fist against the bed. “Stop deflecting. Stop charming. You’re breaking my heart. The least you can do is tell me the truth.”
All at once, it was as if a light inside him died out, his eyes suddenly a never-ending pit of darkness. “I’m...messed up.”
“So am I!”
“Harlow,” he said, voice raw, almost guttural. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t. We could be happy together. You just have to give us a chance.”
“Harlow.” He combed his fingers through her hair, urging her forward, hugging her close to his chest as if she were precious, and in that moment, that second, she fell totally and completely in love with him. The knowledge shone brighter than the sun, sending shadows of the past fleeing.
She loved him. Loved his kindness and the complexity of his personality. She loved the way he looked at her, his dark eyes a little wild, a lot hungry. She loved the way he held her.
And maybe—maybe he’d fallen in love with her, and just hadn’t realized it. He’d spent more time with her than any other woman. He enjoyed being with her, and he did everything in his power to take care of her. He was jealous of Dorian and had come to her rescue.
“We can be messed up together,” she said, realizing then she would never give up, would never let him go. He belonged with her, and she belonged with him. That wasn’t going to change—a fact that should please him.
“What if I give you everything,” he said, “and it isn’t enough? I am not enough. What if you leave me anyway?”
Lightbulb! He had attachment issues, yes, but he also feared rejection. He’d faced it with his dad, probably even countless families who’d overlooked him in favor of adopting some other kid, maybe even from the kids at the many different schools he’d attended.
“I wouldn’t leave you,” she said. I can’t. I love you. Would the admission scare him further?
His features, still infinitely tender, were torturous to behold. “The future is more unstable than dynamite, baby.”
“Yes, but you can’t live your life by what-if.”
“I can spend my life preparing for what-if.” His grip tightened on her before he let go and stood. “Sometimes suspecting the outcome is better than knowing what actually happens.”
“No. That’s the coward’s way, Beck, and you’ll never find satisfaction living that way, only discontent.” No peace, only worry.
A hardening around his eyes. “Maybe, but there have been times discontent has been my only friend.”