Evan
“Perhaps you might’ve had enough,” I said to her, sipping my drink casually.
She giggled at me and covered her mouth with her hand, an action I would have found endearing if I wasn’t still so wound up. In her state, I knew I wasn’t going to be getting any answers about what happened from her anytime soon.
“So what was Michael like as a husband?” I asked, veering to a somewhat lighter topic.
She sighed, the soft pink blush of her cheeks evident in the dimly lit room.
“Is that what you really want to know?”
I nodded.
“Of course. What was he like?”
She shifted in her seat and thought about it for a moment.
“He was wonderful. Loving, understanding, considerate…”
“I see.”
They weren’t the words I’d been expecting to hear her say. In fact, since they’d been divorced when he died, I was expecting her to say he was an ogre, a monster, or he’d turned to excessive drink, but from what she’d said, he hadn’t changed. He was still the same Michael that I’d always known. Damnit!
“I guess you’re wondering why we split up then?” she asked, reaching for her drink again. “It sounds ridiculous doesn’t it? Me being married to a man who’s lovely but still not being happy.”
“Why weren’t you happy?” I asked, and I watched her squirm in her seat.
“Because…”
The tension between us intensified in an instant, and she reached for her drink again, but I held it in place.
“You can tell me without drinking that,” I said firmly. “Why, Ally? Why weren’t you happy with him?”
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
She said the words quickly, as though getting them out faster would make everything better, and they hung in the air between us. Somewhere, back in the past, I’d wanted her to still desperately want me. I’d thought of the humiliation I could bestow on her by rejecting all of her advances, but now sitting in front of her and hearing her say it did nothing but make me want her.
I stared into her eyes and she looked away from me, shaking her head in embarrassment.
“Oh God,” she whispered. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.”
“Do you mean that?” I asked, ignoring her last statement. “Do you mean what you said? Is that really what you thought? Is that really why you had to leave him?”
She nodded slowly.
“And how do you feel now that I’m here?” I asked. “How do you really feel?”
She looked down at her glass on the table, trying to avoid eye contact, but I leaned closer to her and lifted her chin up to look at me. Touching her skin felt surreal, something I never thought I’d ever get to do again, and when she lifted her eyes to mine, I kissed her, forgetting about the years of anger I’d been holding onto. I forgot that deep down I was supposed to hate her for what she’d done, and I forgot for that moment that I wasn’t the Evan she used to know.
She pulled away, flushed with confusion and anticipation.
“I’ll arrange a car to take you home,” I said, sitting back and taking out my cell, but she shook her head.
“I’m not ready to go home yet,” she whispered, biting her bottom lip, the rebellious side pushing her to give in to me.
I studied her face, trying to work out if she was serious. When I’d turned up on her doorstep earlier, I’d had every intention of demanding the truth from her and getting to the bottom of the real reason she’d pushed me away in the hope of getting her out of my system for good. I’d never envisaged that we’d end up back at my hotel drinking and getting closer to each other.
I made the call anyway, knowing that if things continued they’d go too far, and instead of helping myself get over her, I’d end up right back where I started.
“The car should be here shortly. I’ll walk you to it.”
I could see the disappointment on her face as she stood up and stumbled, and I jumped up to catch her, keeping her upright as I guided her through the bar, ignoring the looks I got for maneuvering a drunken woman and out into the hall.
“I shouldn’t have let you go,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “I didn’t have a choice, you know? I was young and gullible—and I’m just sorry. I wish I could turn everything back and start over again with you.”
I heard the words, and if she hadn’t been drinking like a fish all evening I would have believed her. I would have told her exactly what was going through my own mind, but I couldn’t.
“Michael never forgave himself,” she continued as we walked toward the entrance. I peered out to see if the cab had arrived yet, but it hadn’t.
“Come with me,” I said, changing my mind and turning her back toward the elevator.
“Where are we going?”
I pressed the call button without answering her.
“Evan?”
“I can’t put you in a cab like this and send you back home. That’s not who I am.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, resting against the wall. “Everyone else is out.”
“Your mom?”
She shrugged.
“She travels in her Winnebago with her new partner. It’s just me for most of the evening before Carrie comes back with…”
The doors opened, and I allowed her to walk in first before I pressed the numbers on the side. Once it started moving she lost her balance briefly, and I put a hand out to steady her.
“Why?” she asked, looking up at me. “Why are you here talking to me after everything I’ve put you through?”
I looked away briefly, the intensity in her amazing eyes making me have to fight the urge to kiss her.
I knew if our lips touched again it would mean trouble. In the morning, I knew she’d be horrified at the things she’d said and we’d go back to disliking each other. We’d go back to our feud and I’d go back to New York—and she’d stay there in Seaview.
The doors opened and I took her arm in mine, leading her down the hall to my suite. Once inside, I flicked the lights on. She found her way to my bed and fell back onto it, her arms out by her sides like a starfish, and even from where I was, I thought she looked beautiful, her full dark hair splayed out around her head like a halo.
At the height of my anger, if I was still that guy, I would have let her make a fool of herself and seduce me into sleeping with her. But years of anger and frustration had all but vanished now that I was standing there in front of her, and now that I was alone with her, the only thing I wanted to do was protect her.
I wasn’t interested in making her wake up with regrets, and it was then, at that moment, that I realized I still cared for her immensely.
I went over to the bed, pulled back the duvet, and moved her into the space before undoing the zipper on the side of her dress and pulling it off over her head. She smiled at me hazily and helped as I pulled one of my t-shirts onto her curves. I’d forgotten just how angelic she looked when she smiled, and it brought a sudden rush of emotion over me.
She held onto me as I lowered her back down, looking up into my eyes when I stroked the side of her face.
“You’ve got some kind of hold over me, woman,” I whispered deeply to her. “You probably won’t remember that in the morning, but right now, I don’t know how to let you go again…”
She reached up and kissed me, wrapping her arms around my neck, but I used the last of my strength and pulled away. If we were going to do it, I wanted it to be right. I wanted her to want me—not for her to kiss me drunkenly.
I got up, and she looked at me confused.
“Where are you going?” she asked from the bed.
“To get you some water.”
I went over to the mini bar and pulled out a bottle of Evian, resting on the side table for a moment with my head bent trying to make sense of the nights events.
I’d had to use all of my willpower to pull away from her kiss, and part of me was sure that I’d live to regret not taking it further, but I had more respect for her than that. Much more.
I poured the water into a glass and carried it back to the room toward her, but she’d passed out. All I could hear were her deep breaths, and I watched the rise and fall of her chest.
I tucked the covers in around her and grazed her temple with my lips.
“Night, Ally,” I whispered to her, and I turned and went back to the lounge area, undressed, and threw myself down onto the couch—still unable to comprehend that only several feet away from me was the one woman who’d changed the course of my life dramatically. The one person I was starting to believe I wouldn’t ever be able to give up.