We aren’t lovers. We haven’t been for a very long time. I was telling you the truth."
"Did I betray your trust?"
"Christ, no! Not ever."
"Did I walk out on you?" she pressed.
He exhaled, a sound filled with equal parts weariness and resignation. "No, you did not walk out on me."
"Did I do something you cannot forgive?"
He flinched. "No."
She sank back against the pillows. For a long moment, she busied herself with the task of arranging the covers over her slender body. After smoothing them into place with shaking fingers, she looked at him and said in an unexpectedly gentle voice, "Perhaps we should become lovers again."
"No, Leah, we shouldn’t. I don’t… you deserve better than me."
Brett walked out of the room then, slamming the door behind him and cursing himself and his self–indulgent behavior.
4
Leah felt a profound sense of abandonment settle over her the instant Brett slammed out of the room. Stunned by the depth of the emotional isolation his departure caused, she rolled onto her side, curled into herself, and closed her eyes.
The dull throbbing of her head eased somewhat as she slowly inhaled and exhaled to calm herself, but her measured breathing did little to assuage either the tension humming through her body or the desire that made her crave the completion that only their joined bodies could supply. She still tasted Brett on her lips, and the scent of his skin lingered in her senses. Recalling the tempered power of his embrace, Leah trembled anew.
She focused on clearing her thoughts and reclaiming her equilibrium, but she discovered that Brett was permanently etched into her sensory memory. She finally concluded that he didn’t trust himself with her. And she wondered why?
Although she lacked the safety net of actually knowing how she’d spent the previous thirty years of her life, Leah felt oddly reassured by the rainbow of emotions Brett aroused in her. She also felt curious about and compelled to explore each and every emotion, primarily because of the sense of utter rightness she’d experienced at simply being in his arms. Remembering, too, how he’d wrenched free of her, she couldn’t sideline her need to understand what had happened between them in the past, not simply the emptiness his absence now caused.
She whispered a quiet prayer that she would eventually remember all the facets of her relationship with Brett once she accessed the dark void that housed all of her memories. Despite his insistence, Leah knew in her soul that they weren’t
just friends.
She believed, instead, that they shared a history worthy of her scrutiny.
Had he hurt her? Leah wondered. Had she failed to absolve him of his guilt? Had
she
wounded him, perhaps even rejected him? She couldn’t imagine doing such a stupid thing, but she supposed that almost anything was possible. Was he reluctant to forgive her? Was he standing by her now out of some misplaced sense of obligation? Was she some self–absorbed creature who used and then discarded her lovers?
Her final thought bothered her the most. She didn’t want to think of herself as cruel or heartless, but she refused to ignore the possibility or to cast herself in a positive light simply because she lacked tangible memories. She speculated then that Brett’s reticence might actually be a volatile mix of caution and desire on his part.
Despite the unexpected nature of her own feelings, and even though she worried that she might be reaching out to him because he represented stability in the face of chaos, she wanted him. And she doubted that she’d ever wanted any man more.
Leah sighed as she looked beyond the dim glow of the bedside lamp to the sheer drapes that covered the window across the room. Dawn had crept into the sky since Brett’s exit from her bedroom.
Her frustration grew as she struggled with questions that seemed to have no answers. Answers, at least, that remained beyond her grasp as things stood now.
Leah pondered his behavior
"Did I betray your trust?"
"Christ, no! Not ever."
"Did I walk out on you?" she pressed.
He exhaled, a sound filled with equal parts weariness and resignation. "No, you did not walk out on me."
"Did I do something you cannot forgive?"
He flinched. "No."
She sank back against the pillows. For a long moment, she busied herself with the task of arranging the covers over her slender body. After smoothing them into place with shaking fingers, she looked at him and said in an unexpectedly gentle voice, "Perhaps we should become lovers again."
"No, Leah, we shouldn’t. I don’t… you deserve better than me."
Brett walked out of the room then, slamming the door behind him and cursing himself and his self–indulgent behavior.
4
Leah felt a profound sense of abandonment settle over her the instant Brett slammed out of the room. Stunned by the depth of the emotional isolation his departure caused, she rolled onto her side, curled into herself, and closed her eyes.
The dull throbbing of her head eased somewhat as she slowly inhaled and exhaled to calm herself, but her measured breathing did little to assuage either the tension humming through her body or the desire that made her crave the completion that only their joined bodies could supply. She still tasted Brett on her lips, and the scent of his skin lingered in her senses. Recalling the tempered power of his embrace, Leah trembled anew.
She focused on clearing her thoughts and reclaiming her equilibrium, but she discovered that Brett was permanently etched into her sensory memory. She finally concluded that he didn’t trust himself with her. And she wondered why?
Although she lacked the safety net of actually knowing how she’d spent the previous thirty years of her life, Leah felt oddly reassured by the rainbow of emotions Brett aroused in her. She also felt curious about and compelled to explore each and every emotion, primarily because of the sense of utter rightness she’d experienced at simply being in his arms. Remembering, too, how he’d wrenched free of her, she couldn’t sideline her need to understand what had happened between them in the past, not simply the emptiness his absence now caused.
She whispered a quiet prayer that she would eventually remember all the facets of her relationship with Brett once she accessed the dark void that housed all of her memories. Despite his insistence, Leah knew in her soul that they weren’t
just friends.
She believed, instead, that they shared a history worthy of her scrutiny.
Had he hurt her? Leah wondered. Had she failed to absolve him of his guilt? Had
she
wounded him, perhaps even rejected him? She couldn’t imagine doing such a stupid thing, but she supposed that almost anything was possible. Was he reluctant to forgive her? Was he standing by her now out of some misplaced sense of obligation? Was she some self–absorbed creature who used and then discarded her lovers?
Her final thought bothered her the most. She didn’t want to think of herself as cruel or heartless, but she refused to ignore the possibility or to cast herself in a positive light simply because she lacked tangible memories. She speculated then that Brett’s reticence might actually be a volatile mix of caution and desire on his part.
Despite the unexpected nature of her own feelings, and even though she worried that she might be reaching out to him because he represented stability in the face of chaos, she wanted him. And she doubted that she’d ever wanted any man more.
Leah sighed as she looked beyond the dim glow of the bedside lamp to the sheer drapes that covered the window across the room. Dawn had crept into the sky since Brett’s exit from her bedroom.
Her frustration grew as she struggled with questions that seemed to have no answers. Answers, at least, that remained beyond her grasp as things stood now.
Leah pondered his behavior
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