Chapter Eight
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
He should have kissed her. He’d felt it. The pull. And she’d felt it too. She’d practically admitted it. But Macey’s stricken face at the funeral had floated in front of him. Reminding him what was at stake. Holding him back. He wouldn’t be responsible for putting a look like that on Emma’s face.
At the same time, her mouth was too luscious to ignore. And the intense desire she stirred in him. Were his friends right? Was he taking his aversion to relationships too far? Emma Sinclaire presented a challenge too fantastic to ignore. He couldn’t ignore her even if he tried. She’d been his d**g from the time he’d first noticed her in seventh grade, stepping up to the baseball plate with the fiercest expression on her face, golden braids hanging down her
