Page 8 of She's Like the Wind

“But you did the other night.” She was making a statement, not asking a question.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know how to tell her that I couldn’t have sex with Claudine, not after seeing the devastation in her eyes. That I didn’t want to fuck another woman when Naomi was all I could see.

She cleared her throat and then looked me in the eye. “I can’t help how I feel, Gage. So…there’s just one thing to do.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

My heart hammered in my chest.

“And what would that one thing be?” I asked, feigning disinterest.

“I…have to get over you,” she said softly.

That’s what I wanted, so why did her statement make me feel like shit?

“I know we’re done,” she continued. “Which is a good thing…means that I can start to…you know…get past….”

Get past me?

I gave a tense shrug, jaw clenched. “Right…ah…maybe we can be friends.”

Now, she looked genuinely broken. “I don’t think so, Gage.” She gave a self-deprecatory laugh. “I’m in love with you. I can’t be friends with you. It’ll hurt too much.”

My feet felt rooted to the floor at herwords. I couldn’t move. This woman slayed me with her openness, the ease with which she just spilled her guts.

“Right,” I managed to choke the word out.

It was taking everything in me to look nonchalant—like I didn’t give a shit one way or the other, that I was here as an obligation to close down an affair that had gotten out of control because ofher.

She took a step toward me and went on tiptoe. She brushed her lips against mine gently, a whisper—and still somehow more erotic than any other woman’s mouth on my cock.

“We had fun, though, didn’t we?”

Her eyes were wet. She was saying goodbye.

I gave her a tight smile. “Yeah, baby, we did.”

She turned and walked to the door of her shop and opened it.

She wasn’t making a scene.

She wasn’t demanding I give her more than I was capable of.

She wasn’t trying to make me feel bad or guilty.

And yet, I was feeling both badandguilty.

In fact, I felt like a fucking asshole for hurting her.

It isn’t my fault that she couldn’t keep her emotions in check!

I paused at the door and ran a finger down her cheek. “You take care of yourself, now, Naomi LeBlanc.”

She beamed at me, her face lit up like a thousand-watt bulb.

My heart stuttered.

I wanted to take it all back for a moment, but then she murmured, “You take care of yourself, too, Gage Walker.” And I did what I’d always done best:I walked away.