can’t do this,” she said quietly, knowing he had no idea how much saying it was tearing her apart. The peace she’d made—with herself, with her disease—evaporated, leaving her angry and full of self-loathing. Now, when she finally had what she’d always wanted in her grasp, who she wanted, she had to push him away. “You don’t want this,” she said, stronger now. “You don’t want me. You should go.”
He reached over and turned on the kitchen light, flooding them in brightness. Meg hated the glare. Hated the idea of being so visible, inside and out.
“What the hell just happened?” He frowned at her, his expression a mix of frustration and confusion.
Meg knew what he meant and deliberately misunderstood. “Why don’t you tell me? You were the one who insisted on walking me to the door. Who wouldn’t let me open …”
“That’s not what I mean.”
She looked away. There was irritation in his eyes but there was something more. Clay looked hurt. How could that be? “Why did you kiss me?” she asked, lifting her chin. Anything to keep him from searching for the real answer to his question. Anything but the humiliation of having to explain.
“Because I wanted to,” he replied.
They were both stubborn but Meg was no fool. “Now who’s deliberately dodging? You know what I’m asking. Why did you want to?”
He took a step closer and Meg backed away, skirting around the table and putting it between the two of them. Clay’s face looked suddenly tired. “Good Lord, Meg. I’m not going to hurt you.”
But he would. He would if she let herself believe in this fantasy. She knew his reasons and it was all her fault. He had to know them, too. Had to say them so he could see how foolish it all was. “Why did you want to kiss me, Clay?” She repeated the question, her hands braced on the back of the chair before her.
“Look at you,” he admitted roughly. “You walked through the church today and every eye was on you. You have to know that.”
“So it’s just physical?”
“Of course not!” His shoulders straightened.
She was relieved and not relieved at the same time. If it wasn’t just physical, then there was more. Friends with benefits? She knew Clay too well for that. He had to see how wrong this was. Even as her lips still hummed from his kiss, she knew in her heart that in the end someone was going to get hurt. Or both of them. “So you have feelings for me,” she dared.
Clay paused. “It’s not that simple.”
She knew it wasn’t, and that was the point. “Because if you’re going with physical attraction—” she braced herself for the next words, knowing they had to be said “—you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
“What are you talking about?” His gaze darkened. “Don’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. I felt you in my arms. You practically melted.” He put his hands on his hips. “I might have started it, but you were right there with me. And then you pushed me away like I did something wrong. Unforgivable.”
He really didn’t know. She let that bit sink in for a few moments, trying to figure out where to go from here. It explained a lot. She’d guarded the details of her treatment well, and so had her family. The knowledge warmed her just a bit. They’d stood behind her even when what she’d asked hadn’t been easy.
Clay truly didn’t know the extent of her surgery. She had to think about how to say it just right.
“This …” She swept her hand down at her dress. “This is not the real me, Clay. It was a mistake for me to pretend. You asked me to go with you and I had some silly idea to go all out and prove a point. But the makeup and dress and high heels … it’s an act. If you’d left me at the door I’d be in flannel sleep pants and a T-shirt by now.”
“And that’d be sexy as hell,” he answered. “Good God, Meg, give me some credit. I’ve known you for years. I know this isn’t normal for you. Maybe that’s why it hit me so hard.” He smiled, a sexy little upturn of his lips. “Discovering you’re a girl was more than I bargained for.”
“I don’t want …”
The smile faded. “Don’t want me? You did a damn good job making it seem like you did.”
Frustration began to bubble. “Stop finishing my sentences. You’ve got it all wrong, don’t you see? It’s not just the dress that’s not me, it’s … it’s …”
Her lip wobbled. He truly hadn’t seen her as a woman until today. And it had taken her pretending to be someone else to make it happen. She felt old dreams shatter, the pieces dropping around her feet. Clay would never love her, and she had to stop this insanity now. If she couldn’t have all of him, she at least wanted to keep his friendship.
“Dawson said this would be a mistake.”
Clay’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Leave your brother out of this.”
Meg ran her tongue over her lips. “But I can’t, Clay, because he was right.” It pained her to admit it but it was true. She swallowed, blinked, breathed. “We don’t want the same things, and I’m not prepared to take any gambles right now. The Meg who went away … not all of her came back. There are parts of me that’ll never come back. Some more obvious than others.”
She pressed a hand to her right breast and saw the moment Clay understood. Any teasing, any sexual frustration he had been feeling fled and he looked both fascinated and horrified.
“You mean … all of it?”
“Yes. No lumpectomy. Full mastectomy, and a few lymph nodes for good measure.”
His ruddy cheeks blanched. “So you … I mean …”
He was so uncomfortable that she felt pity for him. But she’d been right to push away. What if he’d touched her without realizing? It would have been too humiliating. No matter what anyone said, a breast form was far from the same thing. Not for him and not for her. And judging by his reaction now, the only thing she would share were the words. He could barely handle those. He wouldn’t be able to handle the scars, or the sight of her as less of a woman. The idea of letting herself be that vulnerable and watching him turn away nearly stole her breath. She couldn’t do it.
“I wear a prosthetic—a form inside my bra.”
Clay uttered a curse word, pulled out a chair and sat down.
Meg let out her breath. She’d said it. She pulled out the chair beneath her hands and sat across from him. “When we were outside tonight, at the inn, I said you couldn’t say the word. If you can’t say it, Clay, you can’t handle this. And so I stopped you before it could blow up in our faces. You got caught up in it today, just like me, that’s all. You’ll thank me later.”
She wanted to believe that was true, but all she wanted was to feel his arms around her again. He wasn’t the only one who got more than he bargained for today.
“I can say it,” Clay protested, his lips a thin, grim line. “I just didn’t think you wanted to hear it. You hate it when people bring up your
