Bargaining for the Billionaire (21 page)

Cassie reached out again, searching the face she'd know in the dark. Prominent cheekbones. A strong jaw. He'd lost weight. The planes and angles of his face had become more pronounced, his skin paler, eyes sunken and rimmed in shadow. He had a haunted look about him now. “Tell me I'm not dreaming, Ty.”

“I'll do you one better.” He cupped her face in the warmth of his palms and stared for moment before he leaned down and captured her lips. His mouth was warm and familiar, but it wasn't the passionate kiss she remembered. He kissed her softly at first, before settling his mouth more firmly over hers. His fingers trembled as they stroked her face.

Lost in the moment, in the fantasy, she leaned into him. Any minute now she'd wake up, and he'd go
poof
, and she'd find herself alone in bed. Right then, though, it was the best damn kiss she'd had in a long time, and God help her, she lifted onto her toes to get more of him. If she was dreaming, she had every intention of milking it.

When she laid her palms against his chest, needing his warmth, to feel the solidness of his body, he flinched again and jerked back. Confusion flicked over his features before recognition settled in his gaze. He fisted his hands in her hair, pulling her back to him, and rested his forehead against hers. “Jesus, I missed you.”

His words jarred through her, and her hope sank into her toes again. Tyler wouldn't have said that to her. The last time she'd seen him, they'd fought. She'd said horrible things to him that day. He'd proposed to her, down on one knee and looking gorgeous in his uniform, and she'd turned him down flat. She'd lied. Had looked him right in the eye and told him she didn't love him, that he was a fling.

She'd lied through her teeth, because she couldn't do it. He was deploying, and she couldn't be that wife who waited every day wondering if he'd come home alive. She couldn't lose another person she loved. She'd lost her brother in Iraq five years ago…after losing their mother five years before that. Their family hadn't been the same since Nick's death. Her
baba
had shut her out, lost to his grief. She couldn't, wouldn't, go through that again, lose one more person.

Except the joke had been on her. She'd waited anyway, had worried anyway, and when Tyler hadn't come home, the bottom had dropped out of her world. His death had left her struggling. To move on. To release the guilt caught in her chest. To live.

All of which only brought a multitude of questions and pain. Three years had passed. They were different.
She
was different. His death had changed her. His experiences out there had certainly changed him. She'd heard from so many of her clients whose sons and daughters had come home from the war, forever changed. Who knew what he'd gone through over there?

So why the hell would he miss
her
? Why would he even want her after the way she'd treated him?
She
wouldn't.

Drawing strength from the pain threatening to swallow her, she braced her hands against his chest and shoved him away from her. He stumbled back a step, brow furrowing in confusion. Keys clutched in her hand, she pointed the fob in his direction and glared at him. “I don't know what the hell kind of game you're playing, Ty, but you made your point, okay? This isn't funny anymore.”

He opened his mouth, but she hit the key fob and climbed inside her car, slamming the door. She hit the button to start the engine, dropped the shifter into drive, and stomped on the gas pedal. She didn't breathe or blink or even dare to look back until he'd become little more than a fading speck behind her.

No book gets written without a lot of support, and I have to take a moment to thank a few people. First, I have to thank my editor, Jessie, for seeing the story within the story, and helping shape this book into something that wowed me at the end.

Also to my critique partners, Sharon Struth and Skye Jones, for their friendship and support. I'd go crazy without you guys.

And I can't forget my agent, Dawn Dowdle, for everything that makes her who she is.

J.M. Stewart is a coffee and chocolate addict who lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, two sons, and two very spoiled dogs. She's a hopeless romantic who believes everybody should have their happily ever after and has been devouring romance novels for as long as she can remember. Writing them has become her obsession.

Learn more at:

AuthorJMStewart.com

Facebook.com/AuthorJMStewart

Twitter: @JMStewartWriter

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