A Defender's Heart. Tara Taylor Quinn

while you figure out what parts of yourself are real, what you can trust, you’ll have that small bit of protection.”

      A ring wouldn’t stop the Cedar she knew from pursuing anything with her if he wanted to. The almost-kiss on Saturday night proved that. Unless she’d imagined he’d been about to kiss her...

      Still, Charles had a point. “He might draw the wrong conclusion if he knows we broke up right after his return to my life.” He might think he was the reason. That she still harbored feelings for him. He could hardly be blamed, considering that everyone who was close to her worried about the same thing. Which brought up another problem...

      “My parents,” she said. She hadn’t even thought about them. About the conclusions they’d draw. They’d been so worried about her. So thrilled when she’d started seeing Charles.

      “We don’t have to tell anyone, Heather. At least, not yet. Let’s find our own way on this, give it some time—and then decide about announcing a breakup.”

      He was offering her the best of both worlds. And that wasn’t fair to him. Unless...

      “As long as you know, in your heart, that I’m not yours. We are broken up, Charles. I can’t worry about every move I make affecting you. I need you to think single. If you meet someone else, someone who wants to get married right away and start a family with you...”

      His finger over her lips stopped the completion of her sentence, but the important words had already been said.

      “I understand,” he told her. “And, in truth, if I meet someone who interests me, I will most definitely ask her out. If nothing else, it’ll show me that you’re the one I want—even if it means being a father in my old age. Or...”

      He could fall in love, and she’d lose him forever.

      The idea, while hard, wasn’t nearly as awful as the way she’d felt meeting with Cedar behind Charles’s back.

      She laid her head against his shoulder. She wanted some more wine, but knew she should leave what was left in her glass. She had to drive.

      “I’d better be going,” she told him—the first mention either of them had made about the fact that she wasn’t going to be sleeping with him that night as he’d been expecting.

      “It’s getting late,” he agreed, gathering both glasses and the bottle of wine as he stood. He followed her to the door, the glass stems between the fingers of one hand, the bottle in the other. He waited while she collected her purse and opened the door.

      She didn’t want to kiss him good-night. But didn’t want to just walk out on him, either. Glancing over at him, she struggled for something to say. Besides the “I really do love you” that was entirely inappropriate.

      “Drive carefully,” he said, raising the two glasses to her.

      “I will.”

      She left, tears streaming down her face as she closed his door behind her and climbed into her car.

      She’d done the right thing.

      And it hurt like hell.