She sniffled, and Jesse surprised her by swiping the pads of his thumbs beneath her eyes, his head angled, studying her.
“You’re perfectly okay with having sex with me, but is that it? Is that all you’ll ever allow to happen?”
Jesse’s mouth set in a tight, grim line. Maybe that was the blow that finally woke him up.
“You really do hate me, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost inaudible.
She squeezed her eyes closed, hating that she was fighting with him on their wedding day, regardless if it wasn’t real. “Maybe I don’t hate you,” she confessed, her shoulders falling in defeat. If only she could hang on to her anger and truly hate him, it’d help her move on. “But I don’t think I can trust you not to hurt me again.”
He was quiet for a moment, the wind rustling through the trees the only sound around them. Ella breathed in the cold night air and sighed. When Jesse’s hand slid along her hip beneath his jacket, she opened her eyes.
“Stop. This is why I am so angry, Jesse. The hot and cold behavior.”
“Seems to me that’s the only way you and I know how to be when we’re around each other. We’re either angry or aroused. And anger more often than not leads to arousal.” Well, hell, that’s exactly what she’d been thinking for years. “We need to meet in the middle, don’t you think?”
“Define middle.” She tipped her head to the side, waiting for him to reveal more.
“I’m not sure if ‘happy’ is quite the middle, but it’s a place I’d sure like to be.” He looked to the ground for a moment. “With you.”
Happy?
He worked his attention back to her face, and she sealed her eyes closed.
“Ella, look at me, please,” he said, softer this time. “I know you’re mad. And tonight was . . . hard. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re in this situation.” His pause had her opening her eyes. “But I wasn’t acting.”
She shook her head, anger fighting its way back into her heart at his words, which was most likely not what he’d expected to happen. “Don’t you dare give me hope, Jesse McAdams. Don’t you dare.”
She shoved his hand from her hip, and he backed up a step. “Ella Mae.”
“Don’t Ella Mae me. Don’t say anything.” She swiped the backs of her hands over her cheeks, trying to remove the traitorous tears. “And don’t tell me there really was a photo you kept of me in Iraq. Or that you gave me this”—she lifted her hand to show the heart-shaped diamond ring—“because I’ve always had your heart even when you were gone.” She turned toward the woods and palmed her forehead, her body shaking. “Maybe it won’t be tomorrow. Or the day after. But the day will come when you cut and run. It’s as inevitable as death.” She was close to her breaking point, her heart teetering perilously on the edge of despair, and she didn’t want him to witness that. “Happy is a place you’ll only steal from me.”
When he remained quiet, she slowly turned to face him, finding he’d closed the distance yet again.
“You wrecked me. Destroyed me long before tonight. And now I have this chance to go to Paris and finally get you out of my head, and we’re going as husband and wife. God hates me. He must really hate me.” Her voice gave out, and her knees nearly did as well.
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered.
She squeezed that frustrating lump down her throat. “Maybe that’s because there’s nothing left to say. Maybe we’re both broken, and we can only ever exist together in that world of anger. Or the one of lust.”
Chapter Fourteen
In the Air – Three Hours Later
“I know you’re not okay, but . . . are you okay?” Savanna softly asked from her seat next to Jesse on Carter’s private jet. “You and I are friends too, don’t forget that.”
Jesse gripped the chair arms, tipped his head back against the leather headrest, and closed his eyes. He was worn out. He’d barely slept since Thatcher appeared in his workshop a few days ago, and now it was zero one hundred hours, and he was on his way to Tirana as a “married” man. He was anything but okay.
“You should be with Ella,” he replied without opening his eyes. If he were to look at Savanna right now, she’d see a whole lot more than she bargained for. She was a woman whose every action came from her heart, and he knew she’d want to console him. But this mess was his own making, and Ella was on this plane jetting toward God-knew-what because of him. He hadn’t earned an ounce of sympathy from Savanna or anyone.
“I’m where I need to be right now.” Savanna’s Southern accent made her words sound much sweeter than he deserved, and he’d be an ass for ignoring her efforts to comfort him.
He opened his eyes when she gave his arm a light squeeze. And the first thing his eyes latched on to was Ella, more precisely her back. She was sitting across from Sydney at the back of the jet near the bedroom, which was currently unoccupied since everyone aboard had turned down the opportunity to get some private shut-eye.
Jesse knew one way he’d like to make use of that bedroom on his wedding night, real or not, but he had to get his head back on straight and not lose himself to temptation.
Anger or lust?
Look what giving in to lust had cost him in New York—another piece of his soul. He’d not only hurt Ella by giving her a weekend of nothing more than sex, but he’d made her angry. They’d swung from one end of the lust-anger spectrum to the other in no time. Same as always.
Trying to get comfortable, which should have been easy on the fancy jet, Jesse crossed one black work boot over his knee and held his ankle. He’d changed from his tux before heading to the airport, but Ella still had on her thin, white silk gown and cowgirl boots.
“I appreciate your support,” he finally said, then shut his mouth, fighting the impulse to tell Savanna he didn’t need her and wanted to be left alone.
In all honesty, he did need her. And he didn’t want to be alone.
“I messed up. Pretty damn badly.” Jesse’s voice nearly broke like Savanna’s famous brownie brittle that cracked apart in his palm with the slightest touch. That was also how his heart felt right about now.
“Messed up how?”
Jesse rolled his head to the side to view Savanna. “Well, there’s a lot I’ve messed up over the years, I suppose. But at this present moment, I was referring to when I slipped and told Ella I loved her for the first time in front of everyone, and she thinks it was an act.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and set it on his thigh. “And she doesn’t believe I carry her picture around with me.” His palm rested atop the worn leather as he thought about the three photos he had of Ella inside.
She’d sent the first photo along with a letter during his initial deployment to Iraq at the start of the war. It was a stunning profile shot of her at nineteen, standing in a field of sunflowers, wearing her cowgirl hat. That was the most worn out of the three in his wallet since he’d had it for sixteen years.
The second picture he’d taken himself around ten or so years ago at a holiday party back home. Ella had been belly laughing at something A.J. had said, and she looked so carefree and happy that Jesse couldn’t help but capture the candid moment. He loved to see her smile, to see her perfectly imperfect front teeth catch her lip too.