The pressure of shouldering the worry alone dissipated like it was never there. Just like that. The truth will set you free. Apparently that wasn’t just a generic phrase uttered by some politician three hundred years ago. “Yes.”
“I know.” She leaned up and kissed his chin. “It’s going to be okay.”
“How, Hannah?”
She wet her lips. “Do you . . . want me to be here when you get back?”
Pressure came spilling back in, caking his organs in cement. He scrutinized her eyes, finding nothing but earnest hope. “Was that . . .” He choked on the words. “Was it even a possibility that you wouldn’t be here? Jesus Christ. Yes, I want you here.” He swallowed a handful of spikes. “You better be here.”
“I will. Okay, I will. I just wasn’t sure if this was . . . if you expected me to know this was a one-time thing. Or casual, maybe. Like we could spend time together whenever I come to visit Piper . . .”
“It’s not casual.” Fuck. His throat had lit itself on fire. “How are you even asking me that?”
She inhaled and exhaled beneath him, seeming to mull something over.
“What’s going on in your head?” he asked, getting right up close, pressing their foreheads together, as if he could extract her thoughts. “Talk to me.”
“Well . . .” Her skin turned clammy against him. “It’s just, you know, Seattle isn’t far, and there are opportunities for me, for what I want to do . . . there. It’s a creative job, not a nine to five. I probably wouldn’t have to commute constantly. Just occasionally. I could think about relocating. To be closer to you.”
The first emotion he experienced was utter relief. Euphoria, even.
They wouldn’t have to do long-distance and he could see her every day.
The second was complete awe that he could make this girl want to uproot herself to be near him. How the hell had he managed to pull that off?
But the panic crept in, little by little, blanketing his awe.
She was talking about moving closer.
Now.
Living with him, really. Because that’s what it would be, wouldn’t it? When someone relocated to be closer to their boyfriend, they didn’t live in separate apartments. Was she sure about him? That sure? Look how many times he’d come close to messing up this entire thing with Hannah already. Pushing her toward another man. Trying to sexualize himself so she’d do the convenient thing and disregard him as a player like everyone else. What hope did he have of giving her a reliable future?
They would laugh at her, too. Behind her back.
They’d think she was out of her goddamn mind, moving all the way north for a man who’d never been serious about a plate of fries, let alone a woman. He’d never even nurtured a houseplant. Would he be able to nurture an up-close-and-personal relationship with a live-in girlfriend? In a way that was worthy of Hannah? He refused to take the helm of the Della Ray. He was a walking innuendo among his friends and family. Now he had the audacity to believe he could be the right one for this girl?
Maybe she needed the long-distance time to be sure. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if she dropped her life, her career for him, and then realized she’d acted impulsively.
“Hannah . . .”
“No, I know. I know. That was, like, really jumping the gun.” She sounded winded. So was he. She reached for her phone on his side table, lighting it up. “What time does the boat leave this morning?”
“Seven,” he responded hoarsely.
That was it? The conversation was over?
He’d had fifteen seconds to make a decision that would determine her future?
With an exaggerated wince, Hannah turned the screen so he could read it: 6:48.
“Christ,” he groaned, forcing himself to roll off her deliciously bare body, dragging the duffel bag out from beneath his bed without taking his eyes off her once. He hated the indecision on her face, like she was suddenly feeling out of place in his bed, but hell if he knew what to do about it. What could he say? Yes, move here. Yes, change your life for me—a man who just got the bravery to admit his feelings less than twenty-four hours ago. A really huge part of him wanted to say those things. Felt ready for anything and everything with this girl. But that remaining niggle of doubt kept his mouth shut. “Hannah, please be here when I get back.”
She sat up, shielding her body with the sheet. “I said I would. I will.”
Talk to her.
Fox stood and crossed to his dresser, ripping out boxers, socks, thermals, shoving them into the bag. Heart in his throat, he stopped to look at her, cataloguing her patient features one by one. “I don’t have enough confidence in myself to ask you to . . . change your life, Hannah. Not this fast.”
“I have confidence in you,” she whispered. “I have faith.”
“Great. Would you mind sharing it?” God, why was he speaking to her so angrily, when all he wanted was to crawl back in the bed and bury his face in her neck? Thank her for having that faith, reward her for it with strokes of his body until she was delirious? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you like that when you’ve done nothing wrong.” He gestured between her and the duffel bag. “You think you could fit in here so I could bring you with me? Because an hour from now, I’m probably going to be sick over leaving like this.”
“Then don’t leave like this.” She came up on her knees and shuffled to the edge of the bed, still clutching the sheet between her breasts. “Kiss me. I’ll be here when you get back. We’ll leave it at that.”
Fox lunged for her like a dying man, dragging her body up against his and fusing their mouths together. Tunneling his fingers through her unbrushed hair, tilting her head, slanting his open mouth over hers, rubbing their tongues together until she moaned, her body sagging into him. He’d be leaving the harbor with a hard dick, but so be it. She was well worth the discomfort.
His fingers curled around the top of the sheet with the intention of ripping it off, giving her one more orgasm just to hear her call his name in that husky way of hers, and Fox knew he had no choice but to go. He’d never leave otherwise. He’d stay inside her all day, wrapped up in her scent, the sound of her laughter, the drag of skin on skin. And it would be the best. It would feed his fucking soul. But it didn’t feel right to make love to her when he couldn’t even commit to a course of action. Be confident in where they were headed, the way she was prepared to be.
He couldn’t do that. Not to Hannah.
Fox broke the kiss with a curse, shoveling unsteady fingers through his hair. He held her tight for too-short seconds until, regretfully, he pressed her back into the pillows and tilted her chin up. Making eye contact but already missing her like hell. “Sleep here while I’m gone?”
After a second, she nodded, her expression unreadable.
“Be careful out there.”
Her concern was like standing in front of a radiator, taking away the chill like only she could. “I will, Freckles.”
Leaving her there, he dressed quickly, pulling on a long-sleeved thermal shirt, jeans, and a sweatshirt. Tugging thick socks onto his feet and shoving them into his boots. Fitting a cap onto his head. Restless now, he took one last look at her and walked out of the room.