The Road to Rose Bend Naima Simone (ebook pdf reader for pc .txt) đ
- Author: Naima Simone
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âStop it.â He didnât mean to snap at her, but as he recaptured her chin and tilted her head back, he didnât regret it. Anger, hot and impatient, licked at him, and he narrowed his gaze on her. âYou. Didnât. Know. Youâre right about why I had a difficult time being around you at first.â
Lie.
Well, not the whole truth. But he for damn sure wasnât going to explain to her how it wasnât just her being pregnant that made being around her like walking a quickly unraveling tightropeâcomplete with the unnerving sense of free fall, fear and a twisted excitement. If only it was just wanting to corrupt that soft mouth and softer body with all the dark, filthy desires that a two-year sexual hiatus had stored up. But it wasnât.
She reminded him of the life heâd lost.
Taunted him with the lust that shouldâve died with Tonia.
But no. He wouldnât be sharing that with her today.
Or ever.
A freshly divorced single mother who had more than enough on her plate with starting over. She deserved more than him fucking her to get his demons out. Because he couldnât give her anything else. Didnât have it to give. While his body mightâve reawakened after a long hibernation, his heart... That was still buried under a gravestone with two names etched into it.
âBut,â he continued in the same crisp tone, âI got over that. Youâre my friend. And friends show up for one another. They support one another, and yes, sacrifice for each other. We talked about this bad habit of yours. Taking on the blame for other peopleâs actions. Today was on me. And yes, it hurt. I would be lying if I told you I wasnât thinking of another time when Iâd been there with my wife, looking at my son on that monitor. But to see your smile, your joy, your healthy baby...â He shifted his hand to cradle her face. Swept a thumb over the damp, tender skin above her cheekbone. âIâd do it again. Because whatever I was feeling didnât compare to that. So do me a favor, okay? Donât apologize again. Not to me. Never to me.â
She didnât say yes. But she didnât object either. And that horrible starkness had started to disappear from her eyes. Counting it as a win, he snatched up several sheets of tissue from the box on his desk and handed them to her. She accepted them with a murmured âthank you.â
âNow, tell me who called you selfish.â
Her lashes fluttered, lowering. She tried to duck her head, but his hand prevented it.
âDonât hide from me,â he gently ordered. A shaft of pleasure pierced him when she instantly obeyed, giving him her eyes. What other instructions would she follow? Would she put up a token resistance, or would she immediately, so fucking sweetly, submit? He swallowed, but when he spoke, nothing could erase the roughness of his voice. Lust caused it, and he suspected only lust could ease it. âWho hurt you?â
She shrugged a shoulder. âI went to see my mother. I shouldâve known better. Ours isnât the healthiest or most loving relationship. But since things had gone well with Dad, I...â
âYou thought she would be happy for you, and the good news about the baby could be common ground you could build on.â
âYes.â The tip of her tongue slicked over her bottom lip, and he jerked his gaze from the wanton temptation of it. âI thought... Well, it doesnât matter what I thought. She was happy. Even gave me a gift of maternity clothes sheâd bought for me. But then,â she paused, cuddled closer to him in a move that he suspected was unconscious, âeverything went so wrong. She mentioned talking to my ex-husband and told me I was only thinking about myself and not the baby and definitely not my babyâs father by moving here. That I was being impulsive, irresponsible and stubborn. Yâknow, the usual.â Her mouth curved into a smile that possessed no trace of humor.
âAnd Iâm assuming your ex agrees?â he pressed, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.
âWhat?â
âWhen you were crying you mentioned a âhe.â Iâm assuming you were referring to your ex-husband.â
âYes,â she admitted after a brief hesitation. âThatâs been Danielâs favorite word to describe me lately. For not remarrying him and giving our baby a two-parent home. For moving a thousand miles away. For preventing him from being a father. I tried explaining to himâand my motherâwhy I needed to do this. Not wanted to. Needed. But neither of them understood.â
âTry me.â
She blinked. Stared into his eyes, and he leaned his head back or risked drowning in those espresso depths. He focused on the lingering pain there, clutching that like a lifeline.
âI told my mother I was suffocating. She probably thought I was being dramatic, but I couldnât find another word to describe the slow, steady death of my independence, my dreams, my voice. Myself. Itâs not Danielâs fault, and Iâm not blaming him. He never lied to me, didnât pull a bait and switch. But I pulled one on him. I never complained when he wouldnât let me contribute toward the household bills, and I became financially dependent on him. I didnât object when his career took precedence over mine. I didnât utter a word when my opinions didnât hold as much weight as his. I didnât put up even a token protest, but inside? Inside, I was quietly raging. Resenting not just him, but myself for staying silent. For being so desperate for affection, to be one of a two, to belong to someone, that I was willing to lose my own identity to have it. But in the end, I guess my survival instincts kicked in. I needed more. Needed to be more than just an extension of Daniel. Needed more than settling for
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