He followed her. “I saw your car parked in the driveway.”
Opening several drawers, she found a Band-Aid. “No. What are you doing in Omaha? Why didn’t you go to the funeral?”
Jackson grabbed the Band-Aid from her. She narrowed her eyes.
“Sit.”
“I don’t want—”
He lifted her onto the counter. His touch still heated her skin. For some reason her body didn’t get the memo that it was no longer supposed to be attracted to Jackson Knight.
“You have a piece of glass stuck in your finger.” He held her finger.
She held her breath.
Retrieving tweezers from the same drawer as the Band-Aids, he washed them under hot water. Ryn couldn’t stop staring at him.
“Here.” He held her finger between his index finger and thumb. “Jillian didn’t want me at the funeral,” he said, keeping his eyes focused on her finger as he eased the sliver of glass from the cut.
“Why?”
With a shrug, he rinsed off the tweezers again then bandaged her finger. “She blames me for AJ’s death.”
“Why would she do that?”
He rubbed his thumb over the Band-Aid. What she wouldn’t have given to read his mind at that moment. The intensity in his expression held the possibilities of a Trojan horse. One crack and his whole world could escape. What then? Would it crush her more than he already had?
“Because nobody wants to believe bad things can happen for no reason. She needs someone to blame.” He brought her finger to his lips.
Ryn sucked in another breath and held it.
“So I’ll take the blame. I’ll let her hate me if it makes it easier for her.”
Ryn eased her finger from his grasp. “That doesn’t make any sense. How could she possibly blame you?”
Jackson’s gaze lifted to meet hers. “Because I was with him when he died.”
“Where was Jillian?”
“Waiting in his dining room.”
Ryn’s brow tensed. “Oh. He must have went quickly.”
He nodded. “Like flipping a switch.”
It wasn’t until Jackson brushed his thumb along her cheek that she noticed her own tears.
“I miss you,” he whispered. The pad of his thumb brushing along her lower lip evoked both desire and anger.
“Don’t.” Ryn pushed him away. Her feet reached for the ground as her heart reached for the door. It needed to escape before her brain served it up on a platter for Jackson to break again.
“I can’t do this.”
“Ryn, I’m sorry.” He touched her hand.
She pulled away. “I forgive you.” Her words were honest. She grabbed a broom to sweep up the glass, not risking another cut.
“But?” Jackson shadowed her every move.
“But nothing. I forgive you. Period.” She moved around the dining room keeping her back to him.
“You forgive me but you ‘can’t do this?’”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
A palpable pain in his voice tugged at her heart. She inhaled a deep breath to break the hold he tried to get on it.
“I did the dysfunctional relationship thing. It nearly killed me. The next relationship I have will be with someone who adores me and wouldn’t hurt a fly. I need someone who will sit on my porch swing, rub my feet, and discuss what color of paint I should use when I get the money to repaint my house. I need a guy who wants to be with me forever every day, not just some days. And I think I’m worth a proper proposal. My guy will drop to a knee and look up at me like I’m his whole world. He will promise to spend the rest of his life making me forget that any man touched me before him.”
A shiver paralyzed her movement as the heat of his breath washed over the back of her neck.
“No man will ever erase my touch.”
Truth. And Ryn knew it.
“Which touch? The one that made me love you or the one that made you leave me?”
Jackson stepped back with a sharp breath. Ryn waited for the release, the string of reasons why she was wrong, the promise that it would never happen again. Instead, he blew out her candle of hope with a long breath of defeat.
“I asked you to give me two weeks.”
“No. You asked me to give you everything, and when I did you threw it back in my face. You told me what you did was unacceptable. And you know what? You were right. I don’t know you and I can’t be with someone I don’t know.” She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes for a brief moment to regain some control. “I’m sorry. You didn’t mean to hurt me—physically or emotionally. I know that. I really do. I … I just want something easy for once in my life.”
“Ryn—”
“No. Please don’t say anything. You know who I want? I want the guy that kissed his sister on the head and whispered, ‘You’ve got this.’” A laugh of incredulity bubbled up her chest. She shook her head with a painful grin. “That sounds so ridiculous, doesn’t it? That touch … the one that made me love you? It wasn’t even me you touched. I fell in love with you because of how you love your sister. Betcha never heard that one before.”