Page 10 of I’m Not Yours

“You’re even more beautiful now than you were years ago,

Allie.”

Whew! “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Jace leaned back in his chair on the deck, watching me carefully, the picnic table between us. “I’ve missed those gold eyes of yours, all that hair, your smile . . .”

I fixed my gaze down the hill on my dad’s run-down home, sagging and sad in the distance.

In contrast, Jace’s home was an architectural delight, modern but log cabin-y, too.

That’s the only way I could describe it.

The great room had high ceilings, the wooden rafters exposed.

There were wood floors, a two-story rock fireplace, leather furniture, and windows that invited in the expansive view of mountains, hills, vineyards, orchards, and farmland from all corners of the home.

His deck, where we sat, wrapped around most of the house. As he said, “I can see the sun come up and the sun go down. It’s like watching the world move.”

When we arrived at Jace’s house, I actually took a shower.

It was embarrassing to ask, but I had to.

I was sure I smelled Spunky Joy on me, and both dogs, dear as they were.

He had jokingly said in a singsong, “Sure. I’ll be in there in a minute, honey,” and I had said, “The door is locked; don’t you dare. ”

I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair. “Don’t say that I’m more beautiful now, because I don’t want to hear it.”

“Why?”

I was trying real hard not to get sucked in by him and his engaging, masculine, he-man, most alluring personality. He was danger on wheels, and I knew it. “Because I’m not ready for it.”

He nodded, and I knew he got it. “When will you be ready for it?”

“I don’t know, Jace.” I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “I’m still the same head case you knew before, only older.”

“You were never a head case, Allie.”

“Yes, I was. I hid it. I pretended things were better than they were. I pretended I had confidence, that I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t.” Childhood scars have a way of wrapping around your whole soul. They weave in and out and grip you tight.

“You were independent—still are, I can see that. You’re outrageously intelligent. And funny. Very funny. You kissed incredibly well, I remember that most of all. Hugged well, too, and—”

“Stop that, too. No flirting.” I tried to smother a smile. It was hard.

“Why?”

“I appreciate the breakfast. I appreciate you sewing me up, bandaging me up, and taking out my splinters. I appreciate all of it, but we can’t . . . we can’t . . . see each other again.”

Those dark eyes flashed and his face stilled. “Why not?”

I ran my hands over my hair. I needed a haircut. I needed makeup. I needed a decent outfit on. “We were . . . in the past. And the past is over, and we’re over . . .” and I am so attracted to you still.

“We did have a past. And now we have now.” His eyes sharpened up. He was a very bright, perceptive man.

“What’s now , Jace? I’m not staying here. I’m moving. I have to get a job. I mentioned I’m unemployed? I don’t want to be in my dad’s house.”

“I understand completely. What does that have to do with us not talking again?”

“I don’t think we need to talk again, after today.” A shooting pain blasted through my heart.

He leaned forward, broad shoulders and all. “I think we should.”

And there it was. That tone, that intensity, that will.

Jace could be seen as an easygoing man. Watching him in action at the hospital only reinforced what a talented doctor he was, with his calm and calming bedside manner.

He cared about all his patients. But Jace was no pushover.

He was strong willed, like me; independent because he’d had to be, like me; and he had a tough side, like me.

He was a wall of steel, a man in the fullest sense of the word, one who did not back down, and anyone who overlooked that part of him was a fool.

“No, Jace.” I studied the scenery and wrapped my arms around my body. My brain said no to him, but my body said, Heck yeah!

“Allie, we were together a long time ago. We broke up under really sad circumstances, which I still don’t understand.”

“And I don’t want to talk about those circumstances.”

“I do. And we will. Someday soon. I want to know what happened. I know what you told me, but I didn’t believe you.

There was something else you weren’t telling me and then you cut off contact; so I deserve to know what happened, but I won’t push you on it yet.

” He spread his hands out. “But we can be friends again, Allie.”

“Friends?” I laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh; it was more bitterness running through a scoff.

“Do you honestly think that it’s possible for us to be just friends ?

” I took in that black hair, that hard jaw, the steely personality behind it all that was born in his rocky childhood.

Two people, both with troubled childhoods. One more thing in common.

“Sure. Close friends. Best friends.” He winked at me.

I tilted my head in challenge. He knew what I was saying. The desire between us was there and leaping.

“For example, Allie, we can walk around my property as friends, and when you want me to kiss you, tell me and I’ll oblige.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“What?”

“This . . .” I waved a hand between us.

He smiled, slow, seductive, absolutely firm in his belief that we could be together. “I like this. It’s still there. Can’t deny that. When I held your thigh in my hand at the hospital, it all came back. And I like you. Still do. Always have.”

“You don’t know me anymore.”

“I know that you’re still brave and funny.

You didn’t even cry when you came into the hospital.

You downplayed your injuries. You talked about the menopausal horse and beating the battle with the ladder.

I like how you’re kind to the animals at your place.

You have integrity, Allie; you always have.

We laugh at the same things. Our conversation is quick, you’re witty as hell, and we talk about everything.

We flow. I’ll bet you’re still good at puzzles.

I’ve missed your smile and your laugh. I like your lips a lot.

A lot. Can I check out your lips with my lips? ”

I bent my head, trying to get control of emotions that were already on high, then rolled my eyes at him. “You are a force like a brick wall—did you know that, Jace Rios?”

“I like brick walls. They add architectural interest.”

“You’re like a kind and funny hurricane.”

“I don’t like hurricanes. I’ll take the kind and funny part.” He put his palms up. “Look, Allie. I’ll try to take it slow. I’ll try not to hug you or kiss you or ask you to get into my hot tub naked. Don’t shut down on us.”

“Jace, I don’t want to be involved with anyone. I like being on my own.” That was a lie. I had been achingly lonely for years. “I like my own company.” That was a lie, too. I preferred his company. It was my own company, my own memories, that made me nervous and angry.

“Let’s not call it getting involved. Let’s call it . . .” He ran a hand through that thick hair. “Hanging out in the country.”

Hanging out in the country naked.

Hanging out in the country in bed with naked Jace.

Hanging out in the country at night in a hot tub with Jace.

One graphic vision after another danced in front of my eyes. He was all man. He had shoulders to grip and a chest to lie on. He had legs that were hard and strong and a back full of muscles. “You are fire on wheels and you always make me lose my head, but I can’t this time.”

“Well, you have a very pretty head, and your gold eyes have haunted me for years, so please don’t lose it. We’re older now. We had an incredible relationship last time. I thought it would end in a different place than it did. But it doesn’t mean we can’t try again.”

He didn’t even know what I’d done. If we were involved, I’d have to tell him.

When he knew, I couldn’t imagine he’d want to be with me anymore.

He would lose all respect and find me dishonest and secretive.

I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to deal with it.

I was still steaming about my dad’s death, too, and I could feel myself coming apart.

I don’t know why Jace and my dad are somehow connected, but they are.

“No.” I shook my head. “No. I’m going, Jace.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I can’t.” I felt the tears fill my eyes. “We were together once.” He was my best friend, my boyfriend, everything. “And it was so hard . . . so hard to have it end, and I’m not up for it again. I can’t do it.”

“Who said it has to end? I’m not even talking about it ending; I’m talking about it starting. Allie, don’t go.”

“Good-bye, Jace. I’m glad you’re well. You look amazing. I’m glad you’re a doctor. I know I already said this, but you’re really good at it. So incredibly talented.”

“Please, Allie, come on.”

He stood in front of me and I pushed by him. He gently grabbed my arm; I pulled away. He asked me to stay; I declined. He said he would drive me home, but I ignored it.

He followed me out, telling me again he wanted to talk, that we could talk about something else, but I started hobbling down his hill.

He climbed in his truck, pulled up beside me, and insisted I get in. I refused, and he actually got out, picked me up again, and put me in the cab. “You’ve got a bruised ankle and stitches. I am driving you home. If you want to fight with me on this, I’ll win, Allie. Stay in the truck.”

He was angry, he was stony. He was ticked off, and I didn’t blame him. We didn’t say another word.

When he dropped me off at home and drove away, I grabbed my keys, drove to the store, and bought a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and three romantic movies.

I got in my sweats and an old yellow robe and watched TV while I cried.

I read a Jane Austen novel, thought of my mother who had loved Jane, too, then I read a crime thriller. I couldn’t sleep that night.

The lights in his house were still on.