it for him to stop the insanity of this sensual, silken web he spun before she lost her slender control? She was too close to weakening, that much she knew. Shouting down her instincts, she commanded her vocal chords to form the words, "Please, Grant. Stop now."
"If that's what you really want. I won't force you into anything you don't want, Cammie. But you are fighting yourself, not me. Like it or not, you do want me. And we both know it."
She didn't waste her breath trying to deny it, but looked away. Grant traced her lips once more, brushed a strand of hair away from her face, then moved back until he leaned against his door.
The absence of his touch told her even more than his skillful, persuasive strokes. It left her hungering and feeling strangely empty and alone.
"I'm sorry to upset you, Cammie. I hate to see you unhappy, and I hate even more being the cause. Talk to me. Tell me what you're feeling."
Her gaze darted to his and she saw a semblance of the old comfort he had always offered. But it wasn't the same. It was somehow more. And less.
"If I tell you what I'm feeling," she said, "doesn't that seem a bit like leaving the window open for the thief to sneak in?"
"You think I'm trying to take something away from what we've had in the past, don't you?"
"It's not the same with us Grant, and I—I hate that."
"You're right. It's not the same. But that doesn't mean we have to lose what we have. Just because we add to it, doesn't mean we have to take anything away."
Why did he always have to make such sense? she wondered. She'd never liked fighting with Grant because he had a way of making his point of view sound perfectly reasonable, no matter how off-base he was.
"I don't think it's that simple," she countered. "There's a price tag attached to everything in life. You never get something for free."
"True, but whatever the price might be, I'd pay it ten times over to have a life with you."
Frantically, she tried to deflect his quiet but firm, heartfelt words. They were words that could weaken her, their simplicity striking hard at her resolve.
"There's a problem, Grant, a very big problem that you're overlooking. It wouldn't just be your price or my price to pay. Innocent people who deserve better from us could end up hurt—badly hurt."
"That's possible. Then again, you could be underestimating Mom and Dad. There's only one way to find out, and even if the worst happened and they were hurt, what's the worse crime—them having to get over a blind spot in their principles and learning to live with a situation they can't condone, or us having a whole lifetime of regret and emptiness for turning our backs on the best thing either of us could ever have?"
"Don't you think you're taking a lot for granted? Just yesterday morning you were what you've always been, and tonight you're talking changes that can affect a lot of people for their whole lives. You're going too fast, Grant."
"Maybe. But then again, I've never been what you thought I was, and the changes I'm talking about have been on my mind a long time. I've thought these same questions through till I've turned them inside out."
"Well, I haven't."
"Then I think it's time that you did."
What comfort she'd sensed earlier was gone. Grant's eyes met hers in challenge, in demand. She shifted uneasily and glanced away. He always made sense, and maybe that was why she'd always sought his counsel. Only this was different and far riskier, the stakes so high it made her queasy.
She needed time. Even more, she needed distance. She couldn't trust her judgment with her senses and emotions in such turmoil. The smartest thing she could do would be to end this conversation before it went any further.
"I think I'd better go in. It's late."
"If you say so. But we're not through talking, Cammie. Sleep on it. Think about it. And while you're at it, think about this."
Her breath caught sharply when in one smooth, lightning motion, he shifted her across the car and onto