“Whatever you’re thinking, just ask, Tyson. Don’t try to guess. And don’t stare at me. It makes me uncomfortable.” She was learning to stand up for herself, to set her own boundaries, but even so a quiver of anxiety always followed such a demonstration of self-assurance. It was hard to get past the “don’t rock the boat” mentality.
“I didn’t mean to stare.” His gaze softened. “Angela told me you are a…is client the right word?”
“It works.” Her heart started drumming all over again, and not in the glorious anticipatory way it had before. He was going to ask. People always got curious when they found out she lived at the shelter, like they were somehow entitled to her story and the sordid details. “Is that why you followed me inside? To get the details?”
He put the beer bottle down on the countertop. He’d undone his tie and the black silk hanging against the brilliant white of his shirt made him seem approachable. Touchable. Not for her, though. He probably had a string of buckle bunnies clear down to Texas. A man like Tyson Diamond would eat her alive and spit out the bones before moving on to the next conquest.
She felt a tiny stab in her heart, remembering how she’d fallen for Jackson only to discover the true man underneath after it was too late. Too late for so many things. Her throat tightened as she grieved for all that she’d lost. Jackson had been handsome and charming, too. In the beginning.
Angela had talked to her about not judging every man by the abuser’s yardstick, and in her head Clara knew she was right. Her heart was still a little too bruised, though, to trust her judgment completely. She was perfectly happy going along the way she was. It would be even better when she was completely independent. She couldn’t wait to be one hundred percent in charge of her own life.
“You looked panicked out there. I know the feeling, and I wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”
He wasn’t asking about her past. And he was telling the truth. His words were utterly sincere.
“You don’t strike me as the panic type,” she responded, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.
“I’m okay—in my element,” he responded smoothly. “Garden weddings? Not so much my element. Neither is this monkey suit.”
“I imagine you are more of a jeans and boots kind of guy.”
“Definitely,” he answered. “Anyway, back to my original question. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I am,” she replied.
“Okay,” he said, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets, making his suit jacket flare away from his hips in a most attractive way. Clara swallowed. She remembered not two months ago, asking Angela about Sam as he chopped wood in the back yard at Butterfly House. She had told Angela there was a big difference between appreciating the package and taking the leap into something more. She’d looked at Sam through the window that day and found him handsome. But Ty…Ty resembled Sam but with an added something she couldn’t put her finger on. For the first time since crawling away from Jackson, battered and bruised, she was definitely appreciating the package, all wrapped up in a suit and patent shoes.
Her tongue snuck out to wet her lips and she saw Ty’s gaze follow the movement. All the air seemed to go out of the room.
She fought to be rational. Other than his hands briefly on her arms as she came barreling out of the bathroom, he hadn’t touched her or made any sort of suggestion that he was interested.
Except…
Except for the dark gleam in his eyes as he stared at her lips. There was just this thing hovering around them. It had been a long time since she’d felt it, but it was like riding a bike. Once you experienced it once, it came back to you in a flash—whether you wanted it to or not. Now she found herself staring at his lips and wondering what it would be like to be kissed.
Reality hit like a splash of cold water. “I really should go,” she said, taking a step backwards. Her voice sounded higher than normal and she swallowed. “Your mother will be expecting me here on time tomorrow. Weddings are all well and good, but real life has a tendency to intrude, and your dad has physio in the morning. It was nice meeting you, Ty.”
“You’re not going to stay for a dance or two?”
“God, no.”
The answer came so quickly and with such force that she didn’t have time to think about not saying it. There was acknowledging the presence of some sort of…chemistry, she supposed was a good word for it. But dancing—touching—in front of people? She swallowed. Her progress hadn’t quite extended that far. She’d even said no to Sam—who she trusted more than she’d trusted any man since leaving her ex—when he asked for a dance. He’d been perfectly understanding, but she’d stood by the sidelines watching everyone else dance, feeling silly. Like a coward.