“Of course. David was a…a great guy, a perfect husband.”
“He was everything to me.” Just saying it brought tears to her eyes. David was generous, kind, consistent, transparent. Yet here she was, asking for more of the one thing Isaac could give her, and that was ecstasy.
Still supporting himself on his elbow, Isaac wiped away her tears. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to be lonely....”
Was he being sarcastic? His touch was so…gentle. Damn him. Why did he have to complicate everything?
She tried harder to clarify what she meant. Didn’t he believe her? Was he remembering the last time, how sickeningly she’d clung to him? “We won’t have to acknowledge it ever happened.”
“Maybe you can pretend I’m him.”
That was impossible, but she wasn’t about to explain that no one could compare to Isaac, not even David. “Sure. Maybe. Or it can be like…like it was for you before,” she reminded him. “Just…physical. We don’t have to tell anybody.”
She thought he’d be happy that she’d made it so easy for him. He was the one who didn’t do well with commitments. When she’d told him she loved him the last night they were together, he’d panicked, said he wasn’t the marrying type, that she should find someone who’d make a better husband. He’d even said she was stupid to think he could ever fall for her. So she’d moved on. She’d gotten back together with David, but David had been taken away from her, and now she had nothing.
Except this highly erotic, clandestine meeting with her former lover.
“It’ll be our little secret,” he said.
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes.” She didn’t want to start any rumors, didn’t want to answer any questions about him. And she certainly didn’t want to explain to her sister why she’d gotten involved with Isaac Morgan again—not after she’d just warned Leanne to be careful about who she spent time with. “That’d probably be best.”
When there was no response on his part, no movement, either, she began to feel uncertain. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he replied. But something told her that wasn’t quite true. The way he touched her, the way he made love from that moment on, was different. It almost seemed as if his stitches were hurting him. She asked if he’d changed his mind, but he didn’t answer. He gave her what she wanted, at least on a physical level, but only with his mouth. He refused to fully make love.
She wasn’t sure if he was out of condoms, or he was trying to withhold the one thing she wanted more than any other—to feel him inside her again after so long. Maybe it was neither. Maybe he’d lost his desire for her and she’d only imagined the unbridled excitement she’d sensed at the beginning, because he wouldn’t even let her satisfy him in return.
He finished as if he was merely servicing her, then rolled over to go to sleep, and she lay awake, feeling like an idiot. Why was she asking for more of the same mixed signals, the same confusion, she’d endured ten years ago?
The smell of her was everywhere. On his pillow. On his sheets. On his skin.
But she was gone.
Thank God. It was too hard to have her lying next to him, knowing her presence in his bed didn’t mean he had the second chance he’d been hoping for. When she’d walked through his front door and let him know she wanted him, he’d thought they could go back to the way it used to be, that he’d have the opportunity to start over with her.
But that was crazy. She was still in love with David; she’d said as much. And he couldn’t possibly compete with a guy like that. David had been Pineview’s golden boy. He’d had no rough edges, no unsavory past. To make matters worse, now that David was gone, he’d practically been canonized. Saint David.
Trying to minimize the strength of the scent that lingered, Isaac shoved the blankets off him. Maybe David was now a saint, but Isaac was still human and would never be able to outdistance his past. He’d been kicked out of school so often he couldn’t remember the number of times. He’d dropped out before he could graduate. He’d been thrown out of the Kicking Horse Saloon for fighting on several different occasions and had spent a few nights in jail as a result. He’d once been chased off with a shotgun when he’d dared to date a girl whose father felt she was too good for him. And, as his crowning achievement, he’d stolen a car on a dare just before he turned eighteen and served a few months in juvie.
What he’d created with his career had come as a surprise to everyone. He made more money than most people around here. The residents of Pineview didn’t know the half of it. But no one considered him to be safe or reliable. They admired him, were attracted to the celebrity he’d gained, but they were afraid to really embrace him. In short, it was generally understood that he wasn’t a good bet.
He squinted against the light streaming into his bedroom, then rolled away from the window. He hadn’t hung any blinds. No one lived close enough to see into his house, and he didn’t mind the sun. He typically woke early, just as he had today. He liked to get moving, had more energy than he knew what to do with.
But he wasn’t ready to get out of bed this morning. He felt like he’d been run over by a logging truck, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t blame that sensation entirely on his latest wound.
Reminded of his injury, he removed the bandage and bent his head to see the neat row of stitches.
“Great. I’m looking more like Frankenstein’s monster every day,” he said through a yawn. He’d probably have another scar—this one right over his heart. That seemed fitting. As far as he was concerned, he deserved whatever he got when it came to Claire. She’d offered him her love, and he’d rejected it. He’d told her he didn’t care about her, even though everything she’d said was exactly what he’d longed to hear. He’d spoken the truth with his body—many times—and would’ve done so again last night if she hadn’t told him he no longer mattered to her. But he couldn’t verbalize his feelings. It had been too hard for him to believe her love wouldn’t wane the minute he began to return it, to count on it. His past was too much of a hurdle. His own mother had left him standing in front of Happy’s Inn when he was five years old, had driven off into the sunset and never come back. He’d waited in that spot every day for two months before he’d gotten the point that she’d meant to leave him behind when she let him out to go to the restroom and buy a candy bar.
He still wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if Old Man Tippy hadn’t taken him in. No doubt he would’ve been sent to an orphanage somewhere. But when Tippy volunteered, the law sort of looked the other way so he could have a new home without all the red tape—and it was a good home, for the most part. Tippy had been kind. He’d put a roof over Isaac’s head, provided the basics and taught him everything he knew about photography, which he’d spent a lifetime studying. But he hadn’t lived long. At sixteen, Isaac had inherited all of Tippy’s video and photography equipment, along with the little shack they’d shared on Crystal Lake. He’d upgraded the equipment more than once, but he still owned the shack, and went there on occasion. He’d been alone ever since Tippy’s death and that was how he felt safest. If he was alone he didn’t have to worry about being left.
Refastening the bandage over the stitching that held his skin together, he sat up. It was after Tippy died that he’d really begun to act out. He’d been so angry and self-destructive, so unable to control his own emotions, that Pineview
