It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2) (19 page)

As she pulls back, awaiting my response, I heave in a gulp of air, realizing I’m still not breathing. I cough, the sharpness of smoke from the fire piercing my lungs when I finally take a breath. My skin flushes red.

“Are you okay?” She asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I fumble for a moment, nearly falling off the log I’ve been crouched on all night. There’s a ringing in my ears from the momentary lack of oxygen. I nod, lifting an open-palmed hand to show her I just need a moment. Coughing again into the other hand I attempt to regain my composure.
Smooth. Real smooth.
I chastise myself silently.

“Smoke,” my voice cracks as I nod in the direction of the fire. I fall to my knees before pushing myself back into an upright position to step out of the circle.

She takes my arm to help me, her skin brushing against my own.
It
is
like velvet.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” her concern seems genuine, and I wish this didn’t surprise me the way it does.

“I guess you take my breath away,” my eyes roll back in my head as soon as I say the statement. She doesn’t laugh, only offers an innocent smile.
You’re her boss. She thinks you’re a tool for sure now.
“Sorry, that totally came out sounding like a jackass.”

“It’s okay, I have that effect on men,” she jokes, squinting, wrinkling her nose, and then laughing at herself.

I slow and let her go first as we move toward the SUV. “So, you going to let me borrow a camera or what?”

“Oh,” I exclaim. “Of course.” Pulling open the rear door, I grip a camera in my hands and turn, extending it in her direction. “You seemed to like the 7D today.”

Her head jerks up in my direction, “you saw?”

“I see everything,” I laugh.

She swipes the camera from my hands, and examining the body, leans on the bumper of the SUV. “That’s not creepy at all.”

I shrug. “I guess we all have a talent.”

“And yours is being creepy?”

I laugh at her question. “No, don’t you remember?” I ask, thinking back to the night we had dinner in Chicago. She seems puzzled. “It’s being intuitive.”

Her eyes are fixed on the movement in the distance around the fire for a second, before looking back down at the camera. She flips through the digital images she took that day. “If you say so.”

My brow wrinkles, everything in my brain is telling me to stop, don’t say the words I’m thinking, but my mouth refuses to heed the wisdom of my brain, “Did I hit a little too close to home last time?”

“What? In the city?”

I nod.

She looks at me quizzically, then her face shifts and a smirk appears. “I’m afraid I don’t even remember what you said.”

I throw my head back, examining her top to bottom. She’s lying.

“There’s a lot more I’ve observed about you since then.”

She laughs. “Oh yeah?”

I shrug, “I can’t help it. I’m just naturally able to read people.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s hear it,” she challenges, only briefly making eye contact.

I study her. Looking her up and down, eager for the opportunity to drink her in without the fear of being caught. “The way you carry yourself—you’re confident.”

“So far so good, but I think just about anyone could have figured that much out. What else ya got, pretty boy?” She taunts.

I tilt my head and continue, “Nothing scares you. Wait—no, not much scares you.”

“Please, do tell, what scares me?”

I shake my head, “I don’t know, but it’s clear you’re running from something.” She’s not smiling anymore. I feel a pang in my chest as I quickly realize I’ve crossed a line. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No!” She nearly shouts before regaining her composure. “Please, go on.”

“I’m full of crap, just ignore me.” I dismiss myself.

“No, I want to know exactly what it is you think I’m running from,” she demands.

I wait for her to say something else, but she doesn’t, it’s clear I’m going to have to explain my statement. I want to tell her I was just trying to fill the quiet while also trying to learn more about her. But I can’t.

“I’m intuitive, not psychic,” I bark more than speak.

“I think we both know what you’re trying to say.”

I laugh uncomfortably, raising my hands. “Honestly, I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything.”

“You think I’m scared of my relationship with Ben.”

“I didn’t say that.”
Where in the hell did that come from?
I think.

“Good!” She shouts, “Because I’m not. I’m the one that decided to leave and it sure as hell wasn’t because I was scared of anything.”

“Look—” I lower my voice and move in close to her. “I was just goofing off, I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” She barks, lifting the edge of her hand to her eyes. I realize just how much I’ve hurt her. The situation is quickly spiraling out of control.

“Oh, my God,” I gasp in desperation, reaching for her arm. “I’m so sorry. I don’t hate you, I really like having you around. You work hard, and I gotta say, you’re a natural—“

A low rumbling laugh cuts off my words. I look closer to see Kenzie is in fact not crying, she’s laughing. And this is no ordinary laughter. She’s holding her side, doubled over struggling to catch her breath.

“What the hell?” I gasp.

“I’m sorry,” she heaves, returning to an upright position, covering her mouth for a moment. “I couldn’t resist.”

“You were just giving me a hard time?”

She nods. “Yup, you’re so intuitive, I would have thought you would have figured it out.”

I’m laughing now too. “All right, I deserved that.”

“Honestly, though, if anyone is scared of relationships it’s so you.”

“Is that a fact?” I ask, sharpening my glare.

“Anyone who dates a woman named Kitten is terrified of commitment,” she taunts. “That’s a fact.”

“I’m afraid of commitment, but you’re the one who flew halfway around the world to avoid an ex,” I point out, giving her a sideways glance. I wink at her to make sure she still knows I’m joking.

She’s staring at me, and I don’t look away. I don’t understand why I’ve been staring at her so much lately, but no matter how hard I try and stop myself, no matter how many times I remind myself I’m her employer, I find myself once again staring. I’m not this man. My father, now he was someone who would harass an employee with no regard for their comfort.

“You know I just like teasing you about Kitten, right?” Kenzie adds.

I nod. “You know she was just a girlfriend?”

She shakes her head. “What do you mean?”

“Only that she helped out as an assistant, but I never really even hired her. She liked to travel with me, so she designated herself as my assistant even though she didn’t do very much assisting.”
Why do I feel the need to explain the dynamics of my past relationships? Why don’t I shut up?

She’s smiling at me. “Good to know, I guess. And just so you know, I really was in love with my ex,” she informs me.

You’re still staring.

She’s perfect.

How could someone ever let her go?

“I’m sorry, that was a pretty jerk comment for me to make,” I offer apologetically.

She cocks her head, and her mouth drops open, a look of shock spreading across her face. “Did you just admit you were wrong?”

“I never said I was wrong,” I clarify, grinning.

She laughs, shaking her head. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Her smile lines turn downward, and concern grows across her face. Clenching my fingers tight into two fists, I realize my palms are sweating. Stretching my fingers back out, I wipe them across my pant legs. My chest begins to move in and out rapidly.
Why am I so anxious?
Swallowing hard, I ask, “Are you okay?”

She closes her eyes and after several moments releases a heavy sigh and looks back up at me, forcing a smile. “Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” I reply.

She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut, shaking her head. “You’re my boss. The last thing you want to hear about is my personal business.”

“No, please,” I insist. In my mind, I am screaming that I want to know everything about her, especially her personal business.

She glances at me, inspecting my face with a sincere intensity. “Can I be completely honest with you?”

“I prefer it,” I say, though I am not honest with her. I don’t tell her how I can feel myself being drawn to her. I don’t tell her that when I awoke in the middle of the night, I looked at her sleeping face for nearly an hour. I don’t tell her the truth about how she’s one of the kindest and most thoughtful people I’ve ever met in my life. And I certainly don’t tell her that the way she makes me feel scares the hell out of me.

“I loved Ben.”

“So you’ve said.”

“But…” she hesitates, glancing around nervously.

“Yes?” I press her, desperate to know what’s behind the “but.”

She licks her lips, breathes a shallow breath, searching in the darkness for her words. “You give yourself away. Everything you have, you give to this person. You love them deeper than you ever thought you were capable of, and for a while loving them is enough to make you happy. Ya know?”

I shake my head. “No, not really.”

“It feels good to love someone and be loved in return.”

“That makes sense, I guess. I think most of us as human beings are looking to be loved in one way or another,” I say though I’m not sure if that’s true for me. In fact, I’ve spent my life telling myself I don’t need to be loved.

“I don’t know when things changed with him. It snuck up on me. I went to visit my best friend for a few weeks, and when I came home, I realized something pretty jolting. I didn’t miss him.”

“Ben?”

She nods. “Despite how much we thought we cared for each other, it wasn’t what I wanted for my life.”

“What do you want?” The question slips desperately from my mouth.

She turns toward the Bushmen, who are engrossed in their trance dance, their clapping and chanting mimicking the heartbeat of the desert. She lifts the viewfinder to her eye and watches through the lens for a few moments, then drops her arms and looks back at me. “Do you ever feel like they’re chanting just for you?”

“It’s a healing dance they’re doing,” I explain. I’d seen it performed dozens of times. The Bushmen believe in order to enter the spirit world, a trance has to be initiated by a shaman. Men and women clap and dance rhythmically as they travel around the fire in a circle. Sometimes these dances last all night and in hopes that by communicating with the spirit world, they could cure a tribe member’s illness.

“I know, I can feel it.” She opens a hand, revealing an empty palm then closes it back into a fist. She’s fascinating.

“You never answered me,” I remind her.

She pauses, lowers her head and I wish I could see her expression so badly at this moment, it’s making my chest hurt. “I’m not sure I have an answer. I guess I just knew I wanted more than what I had with Ben.”

“You say all that, and you still think you loved him?” It feels like every time I talk to this woman I’m left struggling to make sense of her. It drives me crazy. So why do I keep asking?

“There was a time when all I wanted was him.”

“And what, now you want riches and success?”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“What?” I ask. “It’s an honest question.”

Her laughter trails off into a sigh. “I just think maybe if you stopped dating women named Kitten you’d have a less jaded view of the world. Money makes life easy, but it doesn’t guarantee you’ll be happy.”

“Fair enough, then what is it you want?” I’m fixated on her as if she’s about to give me all the answers to what the meaning of life is.

“I guess I’m just looking for a love that will never grow cold,” she says, her eyes wide. “I’d rather be alone than just going through the motions.”

“Ah,” I breathe.

“Uh-oh, is your intuitiveness kicking in again?” she asks, her expression daring me to not to laugh at myself.

“No, more of an observation. What you want doesn’t exist.”

“Is that a fact?” She crosses her arms, no longer finding the humor in what I’m saying.

I shrug. “Yeah, you have what I like to call The Princess Bride Syndrome.”

“It’s a syndrome?” she asks, fighting the corners of her lips that threaten to curl up into a smile.

I nod confidently. “Absolutely. You see, you have a perfectly good relationship, but that’s not what you really want. What you really want is a man slave, devoted to you, meeting all of your wishes, and as he does, telling you a tender, ‘as you wish.’”

She’s glaring at me, and I’m mentally kicking myself. “Just because a girl wants more doesn’t mean she wants a ‘man slave.’ If all I wanted was some pathetic puppy dog love where the guy just chased after me, there are plenty of men around for that.”

“Wow.” I’m laughing.

“What’s so funny?” She’s yelling now, and I wish I would shut up.

“You’re so humble,” I snark.

“Oh my God, one minute you tell me I’m confident, and now you’re telling me I’m conceited. You’re a real piece of work. You stroke a girl’s cheek with one hand while punching her in the gut with the other,” she snaps.

“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you,” I plead, trying to rein the conversation in, I reach for her arm, but she pulls away from me.

“You’re always sorry. Did you ever wonder why you have to apologize so much?”

“Because I’m a jerk,” I shrug.

“Admitting it doesn’t make it any better.” She turns to walk away.

“It’s like you’re stuck in the mud that you can’t get out of,” I say, with my heart racing.

She turns slowly, looking me in the eyes. “What did you say?”

I swallow hard, pushing the honesty up from the depths of my cynical gut, up my throat, and out of my mouth. “When you’re with the wrong person, you tell yourself things will be better tomorrow, but they never are. It’s like you’re stuck in mud, unable to move.”

“I thought you’d never been in love?” Her tone is soft again as she takes a step back toward me.

I shake my head. “I haven’t been, but I’ve been with the wrong person many times.” Silence begins to grow between us and the uncomfortable feeling creeps and crawls its way once again across my flesh. I must break the silence. “And you’re right, just because I can admit I’m being a jerk doesn’t mean I should continue being one. Don’t go. Please.”