COHEN

It took every inch of my self-control not to give the waiter a taste of my fist as he tried to usher Annie out of the stupid restaurant. I wanted so badly to knock him off the high horse he rode in on, but I didn’t because Annie wouldn’t have approved.

It takes even more self-control not to march over to Annie’s dad’s house and give him a piece of my mind. Who in their right mind leaves a woman so beautiful, so smart, so incredible, sitting alone at a restaurant for an hour? An entire frigging hour? Either that man is the most selfish bastard on the planet, or he’s clueless. I don’t know which is worse.

All I know is that walking into that restaurant and seeing Annie swirling a teabag through an empty mug, doodling on a napkin while wearing a dress fit for the red carpet, made me ache. It made me ache in a way I’ve never hurt before.

Even in my own, very un-perfect life, I’ve never hurt in a place that feels like it can’t ever be healed. The only thing that can get rid of this dullness is Annie and the smile on her face.

When she touches my skin, her fingers grasping my own, the annoying pain in my stomach lessens. This type of pain is worse than the physical sort—I’ve been whacked enough with a hockey stick to know how bruises heal. I don’t know how to handle the ones on the inside, the hurts that I can’t see.

She looks beautiful, I think for the zillionth time. I unlock the door and watch her move into my apartment. Her dress is red, short enough to show off her gorgeous legs, long enough to leave mystery as to what’s underneath, and with just enough of a dip in the neckline to give a hint of cleavage.

Over her shoulders is a black furry coat, and I feel underdressed in my suit and tie. She belongs among the sophisticated, the movie stars, and I’m just some hockey-playing oaf that someone shoved into fancy clothes.

The way she moves is unique, feminine in her cautious footsteps. Her hips sway as she slides the coat from her shoulder and sets it, along with her purse-thingy, onto the kitchen island.

The dress is strapless, and the sudden peek of skin, her delectable collarbone, begs for kisses. It’s too stunning for words, so instead, I pause for a moment and simply observe.

“I know it’s not the best time, but you are gorgeous.” I shouldn’t be thinking about getting her undressed at a time like this, but it’s nature. I’m a man. She’s beautiful. I think I love her. It’s simple math.

My arms stretch forward of their own accord; my hands reaching for her exposed shoulders. Instead of flinching, or pulling away, she leans into me, her eyes closing as my hands trail down her arms. There’s a thin bracelet circling her wrist, and I toy with it for a second before latching onto her fingers.

“Look, I know we talked about tonight,” I say. “But don’t worry, I’m not trying to start anything, it’s just that you blow my mind. You’re insanely beautiful, and—”

She raises to her tiptoes and cuts me off with a kiss. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“Like this?” I look down. I’m not actually sure, except that she’d told me the name of the restaurant, and I’d recognized it to be a pricey one. “Just in case you needed a substitute dinner date.”

She gives a little giggle, the sound music to my ears. “We didn’t stay long enough to eat.”

“I didn’t like the waiter.”

“Me neither.” Her smile is shy and slow to bloom. “I think you look great. Very handsome.”

“The suit doesn’t make me pretty enough to stand next to you.”

“Good thing you’re not pretty.” She moves in, wrapping her arms around my waist. “You’re tough. And manly. And sexy.”

Her fingers sink into my skin as she hugs me tight. It goes on for too long, and even though I can feel myself wanting her, it’s more than that. When she looks at me, it makes me feel something. Something incredible.

When she pulls away, the absence stings.

“I’m going to, uh...” she hesitates, stepping away from me. “Use the bathroom quickly. I’ll be right back.”

“Annie, wait—”

“One second!”

I don’t really have a choice except to let her go. I’m anxious, wondering what made her pull away from everything good happening. A part of me wants to knock and ask if she’s okay. But waiting outside the bathroom door is creepy, so I force myself to back away.

I retreat to my bedroom and prowl for the next few minutes. I alternate between wrestling my hair into submission, checking it out in the mirror, feeling like a douche, and then mussing it back up out of frustration.

Finally, I fall back onto my bed and close my eyes, trying not to think at all.

“Cohen?”

When she calls for me, it’s soft, almost angelic, and sweet. I sit up and blink, then I blink for a second time because she’s standing in the door looking like a picture of paradise. She’s freed her face of makeup, and her hair, loose and curly, tumbles over her shoulders. She’s wearing nothing but my robe, and I’m speechless all over again.

Pulling the material close, she leans against the doorframe. “Thank you for being there, even though it’s not your job.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

She nods, running her tongue along her lips as she takes one step, and then another, and another into the room. With each footstep, she lets her fingers trail down the edges of the robe, inching it open to reveal nothing but skin underneath.

My breath is stuck in my chest, and even though I want to tell her she’s beautiful, I can’t. There just aren’t the right letters, the right words, the right phrases to capture her essence. The way she moves, the things she says, the look in her eyes. A drop of dew on a chilled morning, hopeful and so very precious.

“We don’t have to do this tonight.” My voice is gruff. “Come here, let me hold you. Let’s save this for a different time.”

“No, Cohen, I have something to tell you.”

She climbs onto the bed, the fluffy fabric surrounding her body falls open, exposing only a black lingerie set. Even so, I can’t look anywhere except her face. As I stare, I fall deeper and deeper into those pools of golden honey until I’m wondering if I can ever pull myself out.

“I didn’t let myself sleep with you because I was scared.” Her lip trembles, but she doesn’t cry. Quite the opposite. She guides me back until I’m leaned against the headboard and she’s perched next to me. Folding herself into a sitting position, she rests her hands on her lap, legs tucked beneath her bottom. “I didn’t want to be a notch on your bedpost.”

“You were never going to be that.”

“I know, but you have to understand why I might’ve feared it. The rumors, the articles, your glamorous life in Los Angeles. I’m not glittery and shiny; I’m normal. I thought you’d take me to bed once and then leave me alone. I hate being alone.”

“I always knew you were different. I knew that before we began.”

“Different, maybe. But you couldn’t have known you liked me.”

“I knew I liked you,” I correct, a smile creeping onto my face despite her wide, searching eyes. “From the first moment I saw you in that suit. You were funny and sweet and so much more. Don’t you understand? I always liked you, Annie, I just hadn’t realized I loved you.”

We both pause.

Well, I pause.

I’ve said it. It’s out there—I love her. Of course I love her.

However, if I had been hoping for a reaction, I would’ve been sorely disappointed. Annie continues as if she hasn’t heard me at all, shifting herself closer, but I’m hardly listening.

Now that I’ve realized—and admitted—I love Annie, I want to tell her again, and again, and again until she’s convinced of it. I want to show her, make her feel its truth.

Annie’s still talking, almost as if she hasn’t heard me. Finally, my attention is drawn back to her face as her eyes close, releasing a tiny trickle of tears through her lashes and down her cheeks.

I make them vanish with a touch of my lips. “Why are you crying?”

“Listen.” She’s determined to speak, arranging herself next to me in a bundle of limbs all wrapped around each other. “Cohen, I know I’ve made you work hard to get me here, and I want you to know why.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I was trying to protect my heart from you. I figured you’d inevitably disappear down the road.”

I flinch, but I don’t respond.

“You have to understand, I had to—have to—protect myself. Nobody’s going to do it for me.” She presses a hand to her heart, the tears streaking down faster, faster, a pitter patter against my comforter. “But I made one mistake.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she says finally. “But I was wrong. You see, I can’t possibly protect my heart when I’ve already given it away.”

I’m trembling. My hands are shaking. I’m not supposed to act like this, but I can’t help it. She looks so fragile, and I need to touch her, hold her. Spindly arms wrap around her legs as she hugs them to her chest.

“I love you, too, Cohen,” she whispers with a vengeance, finally returning my confession. “And I know it’s crazy to say, but I also know it’s true. I want to be with you tonight.”

“Annie—”

“Please.”

It’s a whisper, a feather drifting through the air between us before my will breaks, and I have to touch her. My fingers make contact with her skin. Her shoulders, first, as I drag my finger down curves soft as silk, knocking the robe from her arms.

“You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” I tell her. “Let me kiss you.”

She leans in, eyes still closed, lips parted just a sliver. It’s enough for me to taste the sweet flavor that is Annie Plymouth. I can’t imagine ever wanting another flavor again.

“Are you sure you want this?” I ask. “Absolutely positive?”

Her eyes blink open, bright and sure. “Yes,” she says. Then she gives the slightest shake of her head. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“I can wait longer.”

“No.” Her answer is swift and firm. “I want you more than anything, Cohen James.”