‘This is what I do for a living, Sam.’
‘Are we in the interview now?’
She sucked back her instinctive reaction to the harshness of his voice. ‘See—that’s very telling to me. That you get so worked up on this particular subject.’
His cheek pulsed high in his jaw. ‘Mel and I are fine.’
‘Just fine? Not great? Not wildly, crazy in love?’ Although she knew the answer to that. If he were he wouldn’t have had such a hard time buying her a gift. And he sure as heck wouldn’t be sitting here with her.
His simmering eyes told her he was trying very hard not to be rude. ‘All marriages go through their rough patches.’
She took a breath, trusted her instinct. ‘How long has this patch been?’
He dropped his eyes to the table, and when he lifted them they were predatory. ‘I think we should talk about that kiss now.’
It was her turn to stiffen. ‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘Don’t avoid the subject. Why won’t you talk about the kiss?’
She leaned forward. ‘Why is it so hard for you to talk about your wife?’
He met her in the middle of the table. ‘Same reason it’s so hard for you to acknowledge kissing me. It’s personal.’ He blinked and his voice softened. ‘And terrifying.’
She sat back.
Terrifying. Sam Gregory—the man who seemed to be afraid of nothing—was frightened for his marriage. Everything he’d not quite said these past days, every ‘fine’ instead of ‘great’ came into crashing focus.
This changed everything.
And nothing.
The tightly reined emotion in his eyes said that he was raw and hurting and vulnerable to suggestion;
this was not the time to be careless with the knowledge she’d unexpectedly found herself holding. But she could lead by example and have some courage.
‘I kissed you before I knew you were married,’ she said.
His eyes flared, as if he hadn’t truly expected her ever to return to the taboo subject. Maybe he’d thrown it out there as a distraction, but she grabbed it with both hands.
Fair’s fair.
‘I’m not someone who would ever knowingly …’ Her father’s wandering eye had wrecked her family. But she couldn’t tell Sam that. That wasn’t the sort of thing you revealed over a casual lunch. Even her friend Danielle didn’t know the full story about her past. ‘I wouldn’t have done it if I’d realised.’
Talking about the kiss was somehow self-fulfilling, drawing her eyes to his lips unconsciously and reminding her of how they’d felt so warm and surprised against hers. Her mouth watered with the memory.
She forced her eyes upward only to collide with ones so intense and earnest they stole her breath.
‘You remember it. I was beginning to wonder.’
‘Of course I remember it. How many men in vehicle wrecks do you imagine I’ve kissed?’
‘Not as many as me.’
‘Wh—?’
‘Mouth-to-mouth,’ he said with a straight face, but couldn’t hold it. His smile undid all the tension of the past five minutes.
Her relief bubbled over. He was making this easier for her. How was it possible she was laughing again so soon after the awkwardness of just a moment ago?
Because this was Sam. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘That’s what I was doing that night.’
He laughed. ‘Yeah, let’s go with that. Really good mouth-to-mouth.’
And just like that the awkwardness was back. At least for her. Sam didn’t seem the slightest bit affected. His eyes strayed to the large parcel that contained the mirror, and he took shelter in a new subject. ‘I just hope Mel likes it as much as you and I did,’ he said.
Wow—how much had changed that talking about his wife was safer territory between them? ‘She will. She’d have to be blind not to see how hard you’ve worked to get the perfect gift.’ No man had ever made an effort to please her as Sam was making an effort to please his wife. ‘She’s very lucky.’
Her breath sucked in on a tiny gasp at her accidentally spoken words.
Sam lifted his eyes. ‘Lucky?’
‘That you’re going to so much effort,’ she stumbled. ‘That you care enough to do … all of this … for her. You could have just gone with flowers.’
His lips twisted. ‘She has no idea.’
‘Then tell her,’ Aimee said, locking her eyes on his. ‘Every woman deserves to know she’s cherished.’
Sam frowned. ‘I can’t even imagine a conversation between us that would lead to that.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You don’t talk?’
‘Not like that.’ He shook his head and his gaze flickered away. ‘Not like this.’
Again her breath tightened. So it wasn’t only she who found their time together easy and natural. ‘That surprises me.’
His eyes lifted. ‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘The Sam I met dangling off that highway … That’s not a man I can imagine having difficulty communicating.’
‘Mel’s not really a talker.’
‘Have you tried?’
His eyes shaded over. ‘Repeatedly.’
She knew firsthand how frustrating it was to try and talk to someone who didn’t reciprocate. Except in her case it had been more a case of Wayne not being a listener. He just hadn’t stopped talking long enough for her to get a word in, and if she had, his reflex had been to disregard it.
Sam’s gentle voice drew her eyes back to his. ‘Has someone made you feel like that? Cherished?’ The blue of his irises seemed to have grown richer.
Her mouth opened and then closed again without answer. That wasn’t a question she could answer without embarrassing both of them.
Silent moments ticked by.
‘Is our friendship one-way, Aimee?’ he asked out of nowhere, shifting in his seat, not letting up with the eye-contact. Not angry, but rough enough that she winced—just slightly. ‘You can ask me personal things but I can’t ask you?’
‘I …’ That was actual hurt in his eyes. Or was she imagining it? Her pulse quickened. ‘I’ve … I must have …’
He leaned forward. ‘Everything I know about you I know from that one night on the mountain. Since then you haven’t … invited personal conversation.’
Her heart beat in her throat. ‘We just had one. About …’ The Kiss.
‘That wasn’t personal. We were both involved. I’d like to know more about Aimee Leigh, about what makes her tick. You told those kids yesterday more about yourself in one hour than you’ve told me since we met.’
Old scars pinched tightly. In her household personal discussions had been discouraged lest they led to … you know … actual caring. She didn’t do emotional risk. And opening up to this particular man would definitely be risky.
‘Why?’
The question seemed to anger him. ‘Because we’re friends, Aimee. Or at least I think we are. I don’t know.’ He threw his hands into the air.