“I did,” he admitted sheepishly. “But in my defense, I forgot I was wearing his clothes, and he took me by surprise. I tried to backtrack, but he didn’t believe me.”
She was dead. Tommy would never let her live this down. “What did he do?”
He tossed back the rest of his wine and set the glass on the coffee table. When he looked at her, every trace of teasing amusement had disappeared. Prickles of alarm raised the fine hairs at her nape.
“He told me he’d kill me for seeing you, then running away.” He watched her steadily. “Why would he think that? Why would you?”
She choked on her wine. Fear sent her heart tumbling over itself at impossible speeds. Jeremy watched her intently, practically daring her to come clean. But how could she? Her secrets were hers to keep. Tommy didn’t get to decide when and where she told them, or to whom. She’d kill him. Get rid of Jeremy, then head right over to Tommy’s and kill him. She might be smaller, but she’d kick his ass so hard he wouldn’t be able to sit for a week.
She slammed her glass down on the coffee table and lurched to her feet, hands on her hips. “You need to go. If you don’t, I can’t guarantee your safety. Or that I won’t just punch you in the face.”
“You wouldn’t be the first.” He stretched an arm along the back of the couch and made himself comfortable. “Go ahead. My left cheek isn’t bruised yet. I think it needs a little color, don’t you?”
“Jeremy!” She snarled and stomped her foot. “I’m serious. You need to leave.”
“No. I’m not running away again.” He stood and gripped her elbows. His eyes pleaded. “Every time we get close to something good, something real, you run away. Not this time. I won’t let you. I know we have something here. I know we can be something, if you’ll just let me in. Why won’t you?”
His calm control infuriated her. She was supposed to be the calm one. She was supposed to be in control. How dare he be composed and rational when she was ready to break something over his head?
Maybe she’d start with the wine glass.
“I don’t let you in because I don’t want to. I don’t want you.” But her voice broke on the last word, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Bullshit.” His fingers tightened. “Yes, you do want me. But you refuse to admit it, like you refused to admit it seven years ago. Your act may have worked on me then, but it won’t now. I’m not leaving until we talk about this like adults.”
Erica closed her eyes and prayed for patience. Patience remained conspicuously silent. Damn it. She’d always been the rational one. She was a lawyer, for the love of God. If lawyers went around screaming at the judge, they’d end up getting traded for cigarettes in the local clink. She’d never, ever lost her temper, but her temperance had left her high and dry just when she needed it most.
She dragged her eyes to his. “Please. Can’t you just accept that I don’t want to be with you, and go?”
“Only if it’s the truth. Then I’ll go away and you can take out that restraining order. Or I can stop by at Christmas and Thanksgiving to say hi to the folks and catch up with old friends. Whatever you want…as long as you’re telling me the truth. Are you?”
She parted her lips to lie, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“Talk to me,” he coaxed. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She jerked free from his hold, turned her back on him, and smoothed her shirt down with sweaty hands. “You have no right to barge in here and demand anything of me after I haven’t seen you in years.”
“Do you remember the last time we saw each other?” His voice was so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him. “Do you remember what I said?”
How could she ever forget? If only she hadn’t been so afraid of the feelings he roused in her.
If only she hadn’t run away.
She sank to the couch and knotted her hands together. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t stand to see his eyes, so warm and filled with love. Love she wanted so much it hurt. Love she could destroy so easily.
“Of course I remember,” she whispered.
He sat beside her and clasped her hands. “I meant what I said. I’ve loved you my whole life. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’ve never stopped thinking about you.”
“That was seven years ago!” she snapped. Stay strong. She couldn’t let him in. She had to stay strong, damn it. “People change. They grow up and want different things.”
He shook his head. “Not me. I grew up, but I still want you.”
“Stop it. Just stop it.” Her heart twisted, shattering from the pressure of the stranglehold he had on it. He was killing her. Every word was destroying her resolve and making her weak. Too weak. He didn’t know a damned thing about her anymore. Not one of those pretty words applied to who she was now.
“I won’t stop.” His fingers enfolded hers, so warm, so capable, so strong. “Not until you admit you still have feelings for me, too. Just like you did then.”
She made a strangled sound and ripped her hands from his. “What makes you think I cared about you? I ran away!”
“And you cried every day for a month. Tommy told me.”
Right now, Tommy’s chances of survival were looking lower than a major metropolitan center’s in a nuclear holocaust. Erica clenched her fists. “Tommy won’t be alive much longer, so you’ll have to find another informant. Maybe a few more convenient classmates. I hope you two make your peace before I put him in the ground. Now leave.”
“I’m not leaving. How many times do I have to say that before you listen?” He caught her chin with a gentle touch and lifted her to meet his eyes. “I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. Will never stop loving you, no matter what you do or say.”
She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the wet trail of tears on her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop them. She doubted they’d ever stop, after tonight. “You have no idea what you’re saying,” she whispered.
“Yes, I do. Do you know how I knew you were a lawyer? I tried to keep up with you. Where you were. What you were doing. Though I tried not to cross the stalker threshold.” He smiled wryly. “But I couldn’t let you go then…and I can’t let you go now.”
She shook her head frantically. Her tears blinded her. “You have to. You can’t love me. You don’t know about my scars—”