Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(61)
Author: A.L. Jackson

He put distance between himself and Lizzie, sitting rigid in the booth and saying nothing as he paid the bil . He wouldn’t look my way, not even when I whispered, “Thank-you for dinner.”

He just stood and ushered Lizzie from the bench, never looked up from the ground as he walked behind us out to the car, and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

It took only seconds for Lizzie to fal asleep in the backseat of his car. Christian stared ahead and left me alone to suffocate in his seething silence. He said nothing as he rose from the car and col ected our slumbering daughter from his backseat. He stood aside and waited for me to unlock the front door, and took her up to her room.

I waited at the bottom of the stairs to give him space.

I understood he was angry, not with me, but with Shawn.

Minutes later, he emerged from Lizzie’s room and stared down at me with raging torment.

Something inside him had fractured, ruptured.

“Christian . . . ,” I call ed out, my tone quiet, pleading for him not to make a big deal of this. It was something I’d not wanted to delve into with him. I had no desire to resurrect old ghosts, and had been thankful to have dodged the subject when Christian had asked about Shawn at the beach. What happened with Shawn was long over and done with, something I’d dealt with emotional y, had come to terms with, and had vowed to never repeat.

Unable to escape from the intensity of Christian’s gaze as he slowly took the stairs, I knew there was no way to evade it now.

On the last step, he stopped inches from me and clenched his fists. “Shawn who?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Over.

Done.

Forgotten.

Christian studied his feet, palmed the back of his neck, pushed past me, and paced my living room. Coming to an abrupt halt, he turned and glared at me. “It doesn’t matter?” His voice rose. “It doesn’t f**king matter? Are you kidding me, Elizabeth?” He flung his arm out in a wild gesture at my head.

I didn’t cower, didn’t flinch. I knew none of the fury flooding from him was directed at me.

This time he begged, wanted me to agree, “That ass**le hurt you, and it doesn’t matter?” He turned away, buried both hands in his hair, and hid his head as he released his torment toward the floor. “I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”

Taking a step forward, I placed a cautious hand against his back and pressed my palm into the warmth of his body. Tremors rol ed through his muscles with the contact, and my explanation came in hushed tones and fil ed the otherwise dark, silent room. “It doesn’t matter because I’ve healed, Christian. He means nothing to me, meant nothing to me, and he paid the price for what he did.

The only part that hurts me now is dealing with the fact that my daughter had to witness it.”

Christian’s shoulders slumped further, Lizzie’s involvement another blow. Defeated, he choked over more guilty words, “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.” I caressed his back, ran my hand up his spine, and twisted my fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

“You can’t blame yourself for everything that happened while you were away.”

He looked at me over his shoulder. His beautiful face was il uminated by the light on the stairs and contorted in what could only be physical pain. “How can I not?” This time, I reached for him, turned him, and wrapped my arms around his neck.

He exhaled his burden, groaning from somewhere deep within his chest when he wound a single arm around my waist and tugged me flush against his body. With the other, he brushed away my bangs, tucked the heavy lock of hair behind my ear, cupped my face, and ran his thumb over the long healed scar.

My heart thrashed, protested its chains, loosened its binds.

Dropping his hand from my face, he brought it to my hip and dug in his fingers to draw me closer. He massaged his way up my back and to my neck and buried his hand in my hair.

Held me.

Rocked me.

Loved me.

The clock against the wal chimed midnight.

Christian pressed his heated cheek to mine and whispered, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth.”

As Lizzie posed in front of the ful -length mirror in my bedroom, she slicked bright red lipstick across her lips, smearing more of it around her mouth and over her teeth than on her lips, and teetered in a pair of four-inch heels three times too big for her tiny feet.

I laughed under my breath from where I watched her out of the corner of my eye and wondered where I’d left my camera.

“Look at me, Mommy. Don’t I look pretty?” She spun in place, twirling the old red skirt I’d discarded on the floor as I’d dug through my closet for something to wear.

Crossing the room, I took both of her tiny hands, whirled her around, and dipped her in an old-fashioned, impromptu dance. “You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.” Then I tickled her and kissed her solidly on the cheek.

She howled with laughter, her face red from both the lipstick and her surprise. She sobered, reached out, and touched my cheek as she searched my face with observant eyes.

“You look real y pretty too, Mommy,” she said in quiet assurance, surely having noticed my nerves as I’d hunted through my clothes, tossing aside the modest outfits I typical y wore to work for something Natalie and my sisters would find appropriate for the night.

I’d settled on a too short, black, tiered skirt, coupled it with a white ruffled blouse that showed just a bit too much cle**age, and, of course, a pair of much too high black heels. Even though it made me a bit self-conscious, I didn’t even bother to dress in something more conservative.

Natalie would have just marched me straight back upstairs to change.

Before I could thank Lizzie, the doorbel rang, and she wriggled from my arms and bolted out the door and down the stairs.

Christian.

A tremor of apprehension rol ed through me, flared, and bal ed in my stomach as I heard his voice drift up from below.

Sleep had evaded me for most of last night. I’d chased it, only to drift to the edges of unconsciousness to find myself back in his arms surrounded by his presence, begging for his touch. Panic would bring me back, jolting me up in bed, leaving me gasping for air as blood pounded through my veins.

Those immeasurable minutes spent in Christian’s arms had felt so good, so right, like peace and eternity, made me feel as if I would choose to stay.

Then the solace offered in my arms had shifted, and we’d both felt it—when it’d become more—when the heat of his body had washed over me in waves, hot and hard, nearly drowning me in his desire.