“I’ve got you,” he assured her, his heart hammering in his chest.
She stared at him, her grey eyes wide in shock. “I can’t believe that just happened.” Her voice was the faintest whisper, filled with disbelief.
Dallan should have helped her back to her feet. He should have made a joke about how he was always right. He should have handed her a mug of cinnamon milk to calm her nerves.
He definitely should not have kissed her.
But something about holding her in his arms, alone in the dimly lit hall, destroyed what little restraint he had left. Her parted lips called to something primal, something he’d buried deep within, but now that it had escaped, he was helpless to stop it.
His lips brushed hers softly, questioningly. And she answered.
Her hands pulled at his shoulders, her chest now pressed tightly against his own.
He couldn’t take any more torture—he needed his hands back. Dallan turned, setting her on the table in front of him. He didn’t dare risk taking his lips from hers, so he moved slowly, his hands pulling her hips against him.
Every memory of every time he’d held her in his arms filled each breath they shared. Now that he had her back there, he knew he couldn’t live without her again.
His hands ran along her body, soaking in the warmth of her delicious curves. He captured her moan in his kiss.
Niamh’s soft lips parted, her tongue demanding more.
And Dallan gave it to her. He gave her the kiss he would’ve given her if she’d accepted his proposal that night. The one that told her how much he wanted her, how much he needed her.
How much he loved her.
He never expected she’d kiss him back with the same urgency.
When she pulled away from him, he cupped her cheek with his hand, rubbing her smooth skin gently.
“Dallan.”
The pain in her voice when she said his name would’ve broken his heart all over again—if there hadn’t also been passion laced through it. At least he knew she returned some of his feelings, if not all.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
A thousand responses played through his mind because, in truth, he wanted it all. A courtship, a marriage, a family, a future. Her laugh, her wit, her companionship. But he also wanted an answer that wouldn’t destroy this hard-won moment.
“I want another chance.”
“You don’t need one,” she whispered. “I’m the one who ruined it.”
Dallan’s pulse raced. Was she finally going to open up to him? Terrified he’d say something wrong, he said nothing at all.
“I will tell you everything tonight,” she promised, worrying her lip. “But I think I should answer at least one of your questions.”
“Niamh, we don’t have to talk about anything now,” he hurried. “Let’s just start over.”
She shook her head. “We can’t. I’ll explain, but it just—it won’t be that easy.”
He didn’t know what to make of such a statement. What could be so wrong, that he hadn’t done, that still needed to be addressed six years later?
“I wear the ring because I never stopped loving you,” she said. “And it reminds me that there was a time when you loved me, too.”
Dallan felt the world tilt beneath him. Somehow more comforted and more confused all at once, he told her the only thing he could think of—the truth.
“Niamh, I never stopped loving you, either. Now that I’ve spent time with you again, I know that it was no accident that brought us together, no coincidence. We are meant for one another, and I will wait as long as I must for you to see it.”
Her eyes fell back to his lips. “How about we start with just another kiss?”
