Intimate Geography by Tamsen Parker

Author:Tamsen Parker [Parker, Tamsen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Fiction
ISBN: 9781508418917
Amazon: B00RM9QJNO
Barnesnoble: B00RM9QJNO
Goodreads: 24277937
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Published: 2015-02-19T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

‡

Crispin stands up, and my heart kicks at my ribcage. There he is, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair shorter than usual. He’s got on a dark grey-blue T-shirt under a military-looking jacket, and jeans. And flip-flops. Always with the flip-flops. Does the man not own any other shoes?

I regard him warily before shutting my eyes. When I open them, he’s still there.

“India…”

No, no, no. Agony rips through me when he says my name and my head swims. I look away, staring at a worn spot on the carpet.

I have a choice. I can turn around and leave, get in my car and drive until I can’t anymore. Then I could pretend he wasn’t here. That this has been a tiny and unfortunate blip on my way to feeling like a person again, instead of skin wrapped around wanting, waiting for something I’m not allowed, not deserving to have.

My other option is to dive in. To go to him and let myself soak in the touch, the feel, the smell of him, knowing the outcome is assured. Is it better to have loved and lost? I’m not sure I want to test that theory again.

But it’s hopeless. Just as I’ve always been hopeless where Crispin is concerned. It’s on unsteady feet, with a klaxon of warning sounding in my head, that I drop my bag and run to him, throwing myself upon his mercy and into his arms with a single word: “Crispin.”

His arms come around me, and I can’t believe I considered turning away. I will suffer any amount of anguish to have him hold me for one more second. He feels the same and smells the same, and when he speaks, it’s in the voice I remember thinking could turn sharp or sweet on a dime—perfect. And it turns sweet when I start to cry.

“It’s all right, kitten. You’re okay. Come on, let’s go inside.”

Right. We’re standing in the hallway. Of my apartment building. And I’m in tears. I don’t want to let him go, but I really don’t want anyone else to see me in this state, so I pull away and try to open my door. It resists and I frown. Ah, yes, keys would be helpful. I dig them out of my coat pocket and let us in.

It’s strange to see anyone other than Rey in my apartment, and I’m embarrassed because Crispin’s home is so lovely and mine is…not. But he seems untroubled as he leads me over to the couch where we sit.

“My bag.”

“I’ll get it.”

“No!”

If he lets go, he’ll be gone. I know it.

“We can’t leave it sitting in the hallway.” No, I suppose we can’t.

“Fine. I’ll come with you.”

“Why don’t you sit and rest? I’ll be right back.”

“No.”

“Goddammit, you’re a stubborn little thing. Sit. I’m not going to leave.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He looks pained but doesn’t argue.

“Fine, come on.” He takes me by the hand and tugs me out the door. I almost giggle when he throws my Prada bag over his shoulder—he looks ridiculous and orange is not a good color on him—but I’m too stunned.

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