Good.
She needed to hear it. She needed tounderstandit.
“This doesn’t have to end.” He trailed light fingertips along the smooth curve of her hip. She wanted to sway into his touch, he could see by the flare of her pupils, the blue of her eyes pushed into thin rings. “Wedon’t have to end.”
In a sudden flurry of activity, she scrambled back, breaking contact, grabbed her chemise, and pulled it over her head. Slowly, he sat up and found his shirt and trousers. The coming conversation called for clothing.
Once dressed, he found her perched on the edge of the bed, determination on her face.
“Has it occurred to you that we don’t have to end our marriage?” he asked, shifting the chair before the fireplace so it faced her. Better to be seated than loom over her like a brute. Or, worse yet, try to seduce her into compliance. That would be a very, very bad idea. And, also, very, very hard to resist.
“Not once,” she retorted, her voice infused with a bravado that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He detected uncertainty there. She’d considered the possibility, her eyes told him. “We’ve known each other hardly any amount of time.”
“And yet,” he said without hesitation, “you know me better than anyone on earth.”
Lightly spoken, the words landed heavy and immovable. They contained the weight of truth.
“You don’t know me.”
“Then tell me about you.”
A swirl of emotion shone in her gaze, and within it he saw temptation. “Once a eel, always a eel,” she said.
“Doyle’s words.”
“They are.”
“I don’t care about your past.”
“It’s not only my past.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head. “It matters not.”
Jamie sensed it did, but before he could press her, she said, “The feelings you’re experiencing have more to do with the novelty and excitement of the last fortnight. They aren’t genuine or lasting.”
“You’ve experienced what’s between us with someone else?”
Not bloody likely, he left unspoken.
Yet she pressed on. “The feelings will fade as your life settles into regularity.”
“Regularity?I wouldn’t know how to begin having a regular sort of life,” he scoffed. “And why would I want one?” Did he have the bollocks to speak his heart? He did. “Now that I’ve met you.”
“That is precisely what I’m speaking of,” she said, exasperated.
Let her be exasperated. These beliefs of hers needed to be challenged.
“What you’re feeling is born of our circumstances and proximity.”
He shoved forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “Proximity?That’s what you’re calling it?”
She was truly beginning to try his patience. Why was she refusing to see what was before her?
Them.
A future.
