Christina stood there motionless—numb—unable to move.
The kiss went on and on, growing wilder as the crowd egged them on with their cheering and hollering. Stop. Please stop. Her heart twisted tighter and tighter. Tears blurred her eyes.
How could he do this to her? And how could his clansmen encourage it? She thought they’d begun to like her.
Her throat closed and her chest burned. She felt a crack from deep inside that started to splinter like ice on a frozen pond. She trembled, knowing she was about to shatter.
Her husband and Lady Janet broke apart, laughing, and Christina stilled.
Something was wrong … different. He didn’t stand like a king surveying his kingdom and he was wearing far more ornate clothing than she’d ever seen him wear before. The easy, relaxed stance, the unfamiliar clothing, the hair streaked with too much gold. His shoulders were just as wide but the well-muscled build was leaner, not quite as heavily muscled.
She blinked. Was it only wishful thinking? Nay. She knew it in her heart. The man standing at the dais was not her husband.
When he slid his hand around the woman’s waist and turned to address the crowd, she knew it for certain. The profile was eerily similar, but the jaw was not quite as formidable and his nose didn’t have the slight crook at the bridge. He also had a thin scar down his right cheek and smile lines around his eyes that Tor did not.
And if she had any doubt, it was gone when the woman came into view. It wasn’t Lady Janet, but a young woman probably not much older than herself. She was pretty—with slim, delicate features and big, laughing green eyes—not in the stately, serene beauty of Lady Janet, but in a carefree, lively fashion. A wildflower in spring, not a rose in winter.
The girl caught sight of Christina and smiled. Tugging on the man’s arm, she stood on her toes to whisper in his ear and he turned in Christina’s direction.
Seeing the broad smile spread across a face so similar to her husband’s took her breath away. He should look like this … happy.
The man strode toward her. He stopped and bowed so gallantly she had to smile. “My lady, forgive me, I did not see you arrive.” He gave her a roguish grin and took her hand to lead her to the table. “I fear I got a wee bit carried away introducing my bride to the clan. I’m Torquil, and you must be Lady Christina.” He shook his head ruefully. “My brother is certainly full of surprises.”
Her lips quirked. “He certainly is. You’re twins.”
He arched a well-formed brow, the wry expression looking so much like his brother’s it took her aback. “He didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head.
His gaze filled with concern. “I’m sorry, what you saw … it must have been something of a shock.” She nodded—that was an understatement. By then they’d reached the table. “My lady, I wish to present my wife, Lady Margaret.”
The girl rushed forward and clasped her hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. May I call you Christina? And you must call me Meg. I just know we are going to be great friends, married to brothers—twin brothers, that is. We shall have so much to talk about”—she gave her husband a sly look—“and compare.”
Christina could only nod and return her smile, feeling as if she’d just been caught up in a whirlwind.
“Naughty wench.” Torquil dragged his young bride back into his arms and feigned outrage. “Mind your tongue or I’ll have to put it to other uses.”
Meg’s eyes twinkled. “What other uses did you have in mind?”
He reached his finger down and stroked the side of her face with such love and adoration in his gaze that it made Christina’s heart squeeze with longing. Bending down, he whispered in her ear. Whatever he said caused his pretty bride to blush to her roots, but there was no mistaking the look of sensual anticipation in her gaze.
What do you want from me?
Tor’s strangely intense question, uttered right before he’d kissed her, had haunted her. But now she knew the answer: This was what she wanted.
Perhaps she should be happy with what she had. Tor had done so much for her. He’d rescued her from a horrible situation and given her his name, a home, and most importantly a sense of safety and security. He’d given her passion, and she knew that eventually he’d give her children. He’d protect her with his life—as he would any of his clansmen—because he would think it his duty to do so. He treated her if not with tenderness then at least with consideration. After what had happened in the woods, she knew that no matter how hard she pushed him, he would never strike her. He was in control, commanding, honorable, steadfast, and solid as a rock—by any measure a warrior and a leader to admire.
All this, yet it wasn’t enough. Not when she looked at the couple now seated beside her. What did she want from him? She wanted everything. She wanted tender looks, fierce kisses, loving smiles, and long nights together beside the hearth. She wanted laughter and companionship, intimacy and a man who valued her—not as a pretty plaything, but as a person.
She wanted his heart.
For he already held hers in the palm of his big iron fist.
I love him. The truth was so obvious that she wondered how she hadn’t realized it before. She loved his solid strength, his confidence, his decisiveness, his innate fairness, and even his gruff manner. She knew she could always count on him. He was an important chief, heralded as the greatest warrior of his age, but he always treated her with respect, listening to her opinions.
And if she’d had any doubt, the utter devastation she’d felt upon witnessing that kiss took it away. From the moment he’d rescued her from ravishment at Finlaggan to the kiss they’d shared in the forest, he’d claimed a piece of her heart. Now it was his.
If he wanted it.
It was late when Tor strode through the sea-gate. His gaze fastened immediately on the man standing in the courtyard, waiting for him. The prodigal had returned.
Colyne had brought word earlier from his henchman Murdoch of their arrival. Tor would have come right away, but he’d been helping the guard ready for the journey. Tomorrow they would leave for the Cuillen Mountains to begin the last—and most intense—phase of training. What some called Perdition. It wasn’t much of an exaggeration. But nothing brought a team together like shared suffering.
Tor had been waiting for this moment for a long time. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides. Torquil watched him approach uncertainly, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, Tor drew back his fist and slammed it into his brother’s jaw. Torquil’s head snapped back, and he let out a pained grunt.
God’s blood, that felt good!
Massaging his jaw with his hand, Torquil eyed him warily, as if expecting another blow. Tor hadn’t decided yet.
“It’s good to see you, too, Chief.”
“Chief? Convenient for you to remember now,” Tor said icily. Rain pelted him in the face. “Is there a reason you are standing outside and not in the Hall?”
Torquil looked uncomfortable. “I’d ask for a moment alone first, if you don’t mind.”
He did, but his brother seemed unusually earnest. “Leave us,” Tor said to the other guardsmen. When they’d retreated, he said, “Now, explain.”
Torquil gave him an uncertain look, trying to gauge his mood. He should have known better. Tor gave nothing away. Finally, his brother shrugged. “I knew you’d be angry.”
An understatement, and Torquil bloody well knew it. “And you thought I’d be less angry standing outside in the rain?”
Torquil squared his shoulders and met his gaze, steel to steel. “I didn’t want to upset her. Good thing, after that greeting.” He rubbed his bruised jaw for effect.
It took Tor a moment to realize what he meant. “So I’m out here freezing my bollocks off so your abducted bride doesn’t have her tender feelings hurt?” he asked incredulously. His brother had gone daft.
The muscle in Torquil’s jaw jumped. He locked his jaw and nodded. “The lass is not to blame for what happened. It is I alone who deserve your wrath, so do what you will, but I’ll not have my wife forced to witness it—or to get the wrong first impression of you.”
Tor’s gaze narrowed. “And what impression is that?”
A wry smile lifted his brother’s mouth. “You can be a little terrifying on the rare occasions you lose your temper.”
Not all that rare since he’d met Christine, Tor thought. He arched a brow. “Only a little?”
Torquil grinned. “Meg doesn’t know you like I do. She might think you truly mean to lop off my head or other parts she’s grown particularly fond of.”
“She’d be right.” Tor had already had a report from Murdoch, his captain and henchman, but he would hear his brother’s explanation before deciding his fate. “Give me one good reason why I should not put you in irons and toss you into the dungeon right now. You knew exactly what kind of trouble this marriage could bring down upon all our heads and still you defied me.” He took a step closer, clenching his fists at his side, his fury rising. Torquil might find this amusing, but what he’d done could have jeopardized years of struggle and forced them into war. “How could you do something so damned foolish? So damned irresponsible? Do you have any idea what I had to agree to, to prevent Nicolson from attacking?”
Torquil met his fierce onslaught without flinching. “You left me no choice. I hoped you’d understand that now.”
Tor frowned. “What in Hades are you talking about?”
“I heard the circumstances of your marriage and thought you’d understand. I had to have Meg. She is mine. No matter what the consequences.”
News traveled fast. Tor’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “No lass is worth sacrificing your duty to your clan. What you heard was false. My marriage was the price of peace for yours.”
At his brother’s puzzled looked, briefly Tor explained what had happened at Finlaggan and the terms of the devil’s bargain he’d struck with MacDonald. As his tanaiste—at least for now—Torquil had a right to know the danger they were in, even if he was largely responsible for it.
Notwithstanding Tor’s anger and their very different natures, the bond between the brothers had always been strong. Torquil knew him better than anyone, and sometimes better than Tor wanted him to. Tor could feel his brother’s penetrating gaze studying him carefully as he finished the story.
Torquil shook his head in disbelief. “She tricked you, and yet you still agreed to marry her?” Tor did not answer, knowing it sounded unfathomable. “You’re sure there is no other reason?”
“The marriage and agreeing to train Bruce’s secret guard was the price to secure MacDonald’s help to stave off Nicolson.” Tor’s mouth turned grim. “Though I’m not sure it was worth it, if it gains us MacDougall’s enmity.” He told his brother about the sheriff’s recent “visit.” “Whether he believed that I was besotted, I don’t know—nor at this point does it matter. My marriage to a Fraser was enough to make Edward and his new lackey start asking questions.”
“But you knew this could happen,” Torquil pointed out.
He shrugged. “Aye. It was a possibility.”
“Yet you still married her.” Torquil shook his head again, sending icy droplets of water spraying from his hair. “Are you sure there is no other reason?” he persisted.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. It matched Tor’s expression. “What other reason could there be?”
“I’ve met the lass. She’s lovely. There is no shame in admitting you wanted her.”
Tor eyed his brother coldly through the dark haze of mist and rain. “Just because you’ve acted like an idiot over a lass, don’t start attributing your foolishness to everyone else.”
His brother eyed him shrewdly. “Your wife is in love with you.”
Tor stilled, his heart taking a strange jump. “What are you talking about?”
Torquil explained how Christina had walked into the Great Hall when he was locked in an embrace with his new bride. “I didn’t see her right away, but near enough afterward to see the stricken look on her face. She was devastated. It’s exactly how I would have felt had I seen what she did.”
Tor swore and dragged his hand through his now sopping hair. He could well imagine what she’d thought. But love? He hoped his brother was wrong. It would only cause her pain.
“Why did you not tell her we were twins?” Torquil asked. But before Tor could respond, he held up his hand to stop him. “Forget I asked. You don’t tell anyone anything. Flora even had to come to me to find out our saint’s day.”
Tor frowned, not realizing that his first wife had cared about such things. “You have not exactly been my favorite topic of conversation. Hard for you to imagine, I know.”
An arrogant grin spread over his brother’s face. “Lord knows that gorgeous bride of yours is probably tired of your fierce charm. Perhaps we should play that game we used to when we were young—”
Tor had him in a chokehold before he could finish, taking Torquil completely by surprise. He would have to thank Boyd for the move later. He looked into his brother’s eyes. “Touch her and I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Torquil nodded, and Tor released him.
“Damn, it was only a jest.” Massaging his neck, Torquil stared at him in the darkness, a knowing look on his face—a look that reminded Tor of MacSorley. “A rather strong reaction, wouldn’t you say, for a wife you didn’t want? I think the lass has gotten under your skin. It’s bloody well about time, if you ask me.” He read Tor’s anger. “I just hope you realize it before it’s too late. Lasses need a little warmth and tenderness.”
His hell-raising brother had been married for a couple of months and now he was the damned expert? Tor didn’t know what his brother thought he knew, but he didn’t know a damned thing. “Shut the hell up, Torquil, or you’ll see the dungeon sooner than you think.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”
Tor let him wait—and worry—a moment before answering. He should be punished—and he would be—but right now he needed his brother for something more important. His uneasiness had only grown since John MacDougall’s unexpected appearance on Skye. Something wasn’t right, and he wasn’t going to take any chances.
“Nay, it means your punishment will be delayed. I have a mission for you first.”
Sensing the importance, Torquil sobered, becoming every bit as serious and focused as Tor. “What is it?”
“I’m going to banish you and your new bride to the Isle of Lewis, where you can keep an eye on Malcolm and Murdoch until I find out who is behind the recent attacks and finish training the men. If anyone discovers my involvement, I want to know that my sons are safe.”
Torquil’s expression darkened dangerously. “You think someone would hurt them?”
“I won’t take any chances.”
“Who?”
Tor laughed. “I’ve made plenty of enemies over the years. Not to mention our longtime nemeses like the MacRuairis.”
“Bastards.” Torquil spat, his expression black. His brother hated them as much as Tor did. He wished he could tell Torquil about having Lachlan MacRuairi under his thumb, but he had to keep the men’s identities secret. “There is also your new father-in-law to consider, and MacDougall.”
“And if you and I are thought to be on the outs—”
“It will help protect them from my enemies,” Tor finished. “Though I hope it won’t be necessary.” He gave his brother a wry smile. “I’m afraid it also means your bride is going to have the ‘wrong’ impression of me.”
Torquil winced. “You’re going to make it look bad, are you?”
“It shouldn’t be too difficult, given that it is no more than you deserve. But you can’t tell her the truth.” Torquil started to argue, but he cut him off. “I’ll not risk it. Besides, it would be more dangerous for the lass.”
“She’ll be furious when she finds out I’ve deceived her.”
“Better furious and safe. Consider it a direct order.” Something he knew his brother could not refuse. “Do this for me and I might only chop off parts your young bride might not miss so much.”
Torquil laughed but quickly sobered. “I’m sorry, brother. I know I’ve caused you trouble. If there had been another way, I would have taken it. You have my word that I will do what I can to make it up to you.”
Tor nodded. “Aye, you will. But it’s not only me who will exact payment. MacDougall wants payment for the broken betrothal. Half the lass’s tocher.”
Torquil swore. “MacDougall can suck my—”
“Do not underestimate John of Lorne. He’s a bastard, but a crafty one. My marriage has given him all the ammunition he needs to try to bend me to his knee.”
“What will you do?”
Tor shook his head. “Hope that something happens between now and January to prevent me from having to formally decide. This is Scotland’s war, not ours.”
He’d worked his whole life to bring his clan to a state of prominence and prosperity; making the wrong choice in this war could sink them back into darkness and undo all that they’d achieved. But he knew the winds of rebellion were growing stronger. War was coming, even to the Isles, and Tor could feel the noose tightening around him.
His brother understood. “To hell with Edward of England and Robert Bruce. What do they know about the Isles?”
“Enough to know that they need us to win,” Tor said, admitting, “which is more than they knew before.”
The rain started to come down harder. “Come,” he said. “I should like to meet the lass who has caused so much trouble, though I doubt she will be happy to meet me when she hears what I have to say.”
He was right. Torquil’s bride had spirit; he’d give her that. The wee firebrand looked like she wanted to take his bollocks off with the spoon she was waving at him. He’d made one concession, allowing them to wait until morning to leave the castle because of the storm. Under different circumstances he might have actually welcomed Meg Nicolson as a bride for his brother—if only to enjoy seeing his fierce brother brought to his knees by a woman. Poor bastard.
Leaving the Hall behind him, Tor opened the door to the corridor, knowing that he couldn’t put this off any longer. He needed to see his wife.
His brother’s words had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Did Christina love him? Selfishly, he’d felt a moment of primitive satisfaction. On a base level he wanted her love—her devotion. He wanted her for himself.
But he also knew it would only hurt her when he couldn’t give her what she wanted in return. He wasn’t his brother.
Duty. Clan. War. They all came first. But he also couldn’t deny what Torquil had pointed out: Christina had gotten under his skin in a way no woman had before. He wanted to please her. To make her happy.
As he approached her chamber, he noticed a sliver of light ebbing from beneath the door to his solar. He frowned, wondering who would be up this late in his private room. Brother John? He always seemed to be scurrying about. Tor knew it was unreasonable, but he’d taken a strong dislike to the new clerk. When Rhuairi had noticed an error in the accounts, Tor had told him to keep an eye on the unassuming young churchman, half hoping to find a reason to get rid of him. But the seneschal had not found anything else, and Tor, who’d been paying more attention to the translations of his correspondence, hadn’t either. Still, for a churchman, the clerk spent too much bloody time with his wife.
He opened the door, surprised to find not the clerk but Christina.
She startled at the sound, jumping to her feet when she saw him, scattering pieces of parchment that must have been in her lap across the floor. “You’re back!”
The obvious delight in her voice chaffed against his gnawing guilt. Guilt he had no reason to feel. He was doing his duty. Seeing to his responsibilities. He couldn’t be at her beck and call all the time. But in truth, he’d missed her. Every moment he was away. She was making him soft … weak, and that was something he could not afford.
He scanned the table in front of her, noticing the ink and hastily dropped quill, the open ledgers, the stacks of papers, the dark smudges on her hands, and even one on her cheek. “What are you doing in here?”
He knew what it looked like she was doing, but it didn’t make sense. He pinned her with his gaze, seeing the flush creep up her cheeks.
She bit her lip, tucking her dark hair behind the delicate pink shell of her ear. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Apparently, it was exactly how it appeared. He looked at her again. Closer this time. Surprised by what he saw—or had failed to notice. “You know how to read and write.”
She nodded and took a few steps toward him, her delicate face lit with excitement. “I’m not finished yet; I wanted it to be perfect. I know how busy you’ve been and I wanted to find a way to help, so I’ve been putting the accounts in order. They were a mess.” She waved her hands, her mouth pulled into a broad smile. “Surprise!”
He didn’t know what to say. To say he was taken aback was an understatement. Such learning was rare in the Highlands for a man, let alone a woman. Keeping track of the accounts was no simple task. Was this the reason for the errors Rhuairi had found? He frowned. “Why have you kept this a secret from me?”
Her face fell; obviously, his reaction was not what she’d hoped for. But what did she expect, when he’d walked in not only to discover she’d been keeping a rather big secret from him, but also to find her knee deep in his private business matters? Lord only knew what a mess she could make of things.
“I wanted to surprise you. To show you that I can help.”
Knowing how sensitive she was, he pressed his lips together, trying to control his temper. “This is not a game, Christina,” he said patiently. “You are interfering with important clan matters. Matters that I told you to leave be.”
“I was only trying to help. I saw an error in the ledgers, and with MacDougall’s recent visit, I knew that I had to do something.”
“I have clerks to keep the books. It’s not your place.” He tried to speak gently. “You are my wife. If you found something wrong, you should have brought it to my attention.” He flipped around one of the ledger books, his gaze traveling down the neatly aligned columns.
She straightened her back, her gaze challenging. “You won’t find any mistakes.”
He turned back to look at her. “Sure of yourself?”
“Very.”
He met her gaze. All of a sudden something else occurred to him. Nay, she wouldn’t have … would she? “What else have you been reading?” He took hold of her arm. “Have you been reading my correspondence? My private correspondence?”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze, but the dark stain on her cheeks deepened.
He swore, the effort to control his temper forgotten. He quickly thought back over the past few weeks. He’d received only two secret missives from MacDonald, which he’d kept in his sporran briefly before burning. He thought he’d been careful, but he hadn’t anticipated that his wife could read.
Fear ate at him. When he thought of the danger she could be in if she unsuspectingly saw something she shouldn’t …
How was he supposed to keep her safe if she kept nosing into matters that did not concern her? She’d crossed the line. “Damn it, Christina, I told you to stay out of it.”
Crushed, Christina felt the hot prickle of tears burn in her eyes. This wasn’t at all as she’d planned. He was supposed to be grateful—maybe even impressed and proud—not furious with her.
Just like her father.
He wasn’t like her father. He was fair. He would welcome help no matter the source. Wouldn’t he?
I don’t need you, he might as well have said.
His perfectly chiseled face was as hard and unyielding as granite. “I don’t understand why you are so angry,” she said. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
White lines appeared around his mouth. “Pleased to have you reading my personal correspondence?”
She cursed her fair coloring and inability to control the heat from rising to her cheeks. There was no excuse. But couldn’t he see that she just wanted to be part of his life? “I only wanted to learn more about you. I wanted to know what you do all day. Why you are always so busy. Why you are always gone.” She gazed up at him, seeing the hard set of his jaw. It was the wrong thing to say—a reminder of what she’d seen at the broch. But she wasn’t the only one to blame. “If you would ever tell me anything, I might not be forced to use other means to find out.”
“God’s wounds, Christina! This is not some kind of childish game—it’s dangerous. I’m doing this to protect you.”
Her eyes flared with anger and humiliation. “Then stop treating me like a child and tell me what is going on.” She grabbed his arm, looking up at him pleadingly. They were standing close. Close enough for her to reach up and touch him. To hold his rough cheek in her hand and feel the hard tic of his jaw under her thumb. “Tell me what you are trying to protect me from.”
They stared at each other in the candlelight, she reaching out, he retreating. A dance it seemed they were doomed to repeat time and time again.
Except this time he hesitated. For a moment she actually thought he might tell her. She could see it in his eyes.
But the force of his iron will was too strong, and he carefully detached his arm from her hold. She could feel the tension radiate from him in the hard flex of his shoulders, feel as he fought the natural attraction of their bodies and held himself stiffly away from her. “Stay out of it, Christina. No more ledgers, no more letters, no more following me, no more questions.”
She wanted to cry out with frustration. “Why do you have to be like this?”
He looked genuinely confused. “Like what?”
“Evasive. Recalcitrant. Never telling me anything. Why can’t you confide in me? Would it kill you to share your thoughts with me?”
His gaze hardened. “Nay, but it might kill others.”
The accusation stung. “I would never do anything to betray you. I hoped you’d know by now that you can trust me.”
“That’s not the way it works, Christina. This is real life, not some bard’s tale. Do you honestly think that after two months I should confide everything—even things that put other people’s lives in danger—simply because you are my wife? Even if I wanted to, it’s my duty as chief to keep my own counsel.”
He made her sound ridiculous—naïve. But not all of it was his duty. “Are you sure that isn’t just an excuse? Surely, not everything is of life-or-death importance to the clan.” She leaned against him, her breasts pressing to his chest. His dark, masculine scent washed over her. She remembered the rich, spicy taste of him, the silky, warm press of his mouth on hers. The deep, erotic sweep of his tongue. “What harm could come from—”
“Enough,” he said gruffly, holding her away from him. “You are my wife. You will obey me in this. I do not need to explain my reasons. Nor will you bend me to your will with your body.” His eyes darkened. “As enticing as it might be.”
Christina lurched back as if scalded. Was she doing that? She covered her mouth with her hand, shame washing over her. She was, albeit unknowingly. “I didn’t realize …”
He seemed to believe her. He heaved a heavy sigh. “I came to tell you that I’m leaving.”
She gasped. “Leaving? But you’ve only just returned.”
“I’ll be back by Yule.”
Disappointment wrenched inside her. “But that’s two weeks.” It would feel like forever. “Where—” She stopped herself, looking into his shuttered gaze. Don’t bother, she thought, knowing he wouldn’t tell her anyway. Instead she said, “But your brother, he’s just arrived. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were twins.”
“I didn’t think it would matter.” His mouth hardened. “Besides, Torquil is leaving tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened. “But why?”
He gave her a hard look, his eyes unreadable. “I sent him away.”
“Whatever for?”
It was clear he didn’t wish to explain. “For abducting his bride and almost causing a war.”
“But they are in love. Anyone can see that. If you’d only meet Meg—”
“I did. Their feelings make no difference.”
“No difference?” What was wrong with him? This was his brother. His twin brother. How could his happiness not matter? “How can you be so cold and unfeeling?”
He is cold.
Nay. She refused to believe she had imagined what she’d felt before. He might seem like a hard, ruthless warlord on the outside, but there was more to him than that. He was capable of love; she just had to show him how to open his heart.
Her accusation was not without effect. His jaw clenched and the tic pulsed ominously. “Because I have to be. Hundreds of people are counting on me to protect them—to make decisions for the good of the clan. What my brother did could have caused a war that would have killed tens—perhaps dozens—of my people. If that is ‘cold,’ so be it.”
Christina twisted her hands, feeling horrible. She’d never thought of it like that. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. Her surprise had turned into a disaster. “Please, I’m sorry. I was only trying to help. I promise I won’t interfere anymore. But don’t leave like this.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye. “Can’t you just stay the night?”
The intensity of his gaze took her aback. He was waging some kind of battle, though she didn’t know what. “I can’t,” he said fiercely.
No explanation. No tenderness. Nothing. She gave him a long, searching look, seeking any sign of weakness. It was futile. She dropped her gaze to the floor, misery washing over her. “I see. Until you return, then.”
God keep you safe.
He took a step toward the door, and then spun around with a crude oath she’d heard from him once before. Before she realized what was happening, he had her in his arms, pressed against the steely shield of his chest, his mouth covering hers in a hard, demanding kiss. A kiss that made her heart pound and stomach flip. A kiss that left her breathless.
A kiss that was over much too soon.
With a groan that was more of a growl, he wrenched away. Their eyes met, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of the tenderness she’d been desperate to see. Then, without another word, he was gone.