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breathe. Dammit, I wasn't a boy anymore and it wasn't a crush."
She had to struggle to find her voice. It was a different kind of fear
now. Dozens of nerves jumping to tangle over each other. "You hardly
knew me."
He s.h.i.+fted his gaze to meet hers. "You know better, Emma. There was
something there, when we sat on the beach. The first time I kissed
you. The only time. I've never forgotten it. I haven't been able to.
Then you walked away."
"I had to."
"Maybe you did." He pitched his cigarette out the door and let the
screen slam shut. "The time wasn't right, that's what I told myself
Christ, I've been telling myself that for years." He crossed to her. He
could feel her tremble when he took her arms, but he didn't let go. Not
this time. "When is the time going to be right, Emma?"
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"That's bulls.h.i.+t. You know just what I want you to say."
"I can't."
"Won't," he corrected. "Because of him. Dammit, you broke my heart
when you married him, and I had to live with that. It seems like I've
spent half my life trying to get over you. Maybe I could have done it,
but you came back again."
"I-" She moistened her dry lips. "I couldn't help that, either."
Something came into his eyes that had her holding her breath. "I told
myself this time it would be different. I was going to make it
different. And then ... When I found out what he'd done to you I
almost went crazy. I've been afraid to touch you, all these months.
Give her time, that's what I kept telling myself Give her time to get
over it. The h.e.l.l with it."
He pulled her close and covered her mouth with his.
IT WASN'T WHAT she expected. She was trapped. There was no denying
that she was trapped against him, his body strong and hard and tense,
his mouth like a fire on hers. She'd thought she would be revolted, or
terrified to find herself held tight by a man again. But those weren't
her feelings. What emotions rushed into her came so quickly her head
spun. Warmth and pleasure and an ice-edged spear of desire.
She didn't want to give herself to them, or to him. How could she when
it meant handing her control over to someone else again? But before she
could fight, he was drawing away.
He didn't speak, just looked at her. Wide-eyed, breath quickened, she
stood absolutely still. Yes, she was trapped, Emma realized. But it
didn't seem to matter. Because she was feeling again, really feeling,
in a way she'd long ago accepted she was incapable of
The anger had drained out of him so that only his needs remained. "I
don't want you to be afraid of me."
It would be her choice. She could see that in his eyes. If she was
trapped, it was her own longings, her own dreams, that held her
prisoner. "I'm not."
His hands had gentled on her shoulders. She didn't protest when he slid
them up to frame her face. Nor did she try to pull away when his lips
touched hers again. Gently now, and soft. Her muscles went lax even as
