touch her. Look at her. He’d either feel the scar tissue or see it for himself—and then he’d ask questions. Of course he would. Anyone would be curious. And then … oh, hell, then she’d have to be honest.
She really owed it to him to be honest now. So he knew exactly what he was getting into, if he started seeing her.
But the words stuck miserably in her throat and refused to come out.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘Well, I’m not sorry for kissing you. I enjoyed it. But I am sorry for pushing you out of your comfort zone, for taking this faster than you’re happy with.’
‘I’m sorry, too,’ she whispered. ‘For—for being such a coward.’
He stroked her face. ‘You’re not a coward. I’m rushing you. So I’ll go home now.’ He took her hand again, kissed her palm and folded her fingers over his kiss, just as he had before. ‘And I’ll see you at work tomorrow.’
‘OK.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you for this evening. I enjoyed it.’
‘So did I.’ The expression in his eyes was so sweet, so gentle, that Sydney was close to tears. She ached to be able to trust. To be normal. To be whole.
But that wasn’t going to happen. And somehow, she was going to have to find the right words to tell him tomorrow at work.
The truth.
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