"But that's not who you are, and that's what makes it worse." I go on, ripping at my own heart, hoping I'm doing some damage to his as well. Maybe I can stop this yet. "Yes, I know you love me. I know you want more than sex from me. I know . . . that I love you, too. But this is impossible. We are impossible. If we go down this road, nothing good will come of it. I'm certain of that. I don't want that kind of pain, and I certainly don't want it for you. Can you imagine what people would say? They will not understand, and it would be . . . wrong, very wrong of me to put you in the way of that kind of judgment."
I stop and look into his face again, trying to guess what he's thinking as he continues to stare out across the waves, the wind playing wildly through his hair. At last he shakes his head, and I can tell by the set of his jaw that he's not listening to me. Or not willing to believe me.
"So . . . you're saying it's because I love you that you won't let me make love to you."
He turns to look at me, silently demanding an answer. I nod.
"Now who's being ridiculous?" His eyes are flashing—again, not just from anger. The force of his emotions is almost enough to knock me over. Once again, before I can stop him, his hands are on me, he's turning me back around and putting his arms around me, he's kissing me. If I don't say "no" right now . . . I'm lost.
I let him lay me down on the sand. I let him kiss me until we're both breathless and the water is washing up around our toes. I look up into those clear, blue eyes that have gone beyond intense and think: How did he know I wouldn't stop him this time? I can't . . . walk away from him anymore.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
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