“Wouldn’t you?” His words were rough with emotion she didn’t entirely understand. “Because in my experience, people who dedicate their lives to caring for others often value everyone’s welfare above their own. They take risks they shouldn’t take, make sacrifices they shouldn’t make, all in the name of helping those who need them.”
He’s talking about more than medical treatment. He’s talking about the way I’ve lived my entire adult life.
“That’s not the same thing,” she protested.
“Isn’t it?” Hugo reached out suddenly, catching her hands before she could hide them again. “When was the last time you did something purely for your own pleasure? When did you last make a decision based on what you wanted rather than what others needed?”
I can’t answer that. Because the truth is, I don’t remember.
His thumbs brushed across her knuckles gently, despite the intensity of his gaze. “These hands tell the story of someone who gives everything and asks for nothing in return. Someone who puts everyone else’s needs before her own.”
Don’t look at them. Don’t let him see how rough and scarred they are.
“They’re just hands,” she said, trying to pull away.
“No.” His grip tightened, not painful but implacable. “They’re the hands of a woman who’s been taking care of everyone but herself for eight years. Who has forgotten that she deserves care and consideration and protection.”
“I don’t need?—”
“You need it whether you want it or not.” His dark gaze burned with something that made her pulse race. “And I need to give it to you, whether you understand why or not.”
Need to give it to me. Not want to but need to.
“Hugo, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that keeping you safe has become essential to my peace of mind.” His voice dropped to that low register that always made her stomach flutter. “I’m saying that the thought of losing you terrifies me in ways I’m not prepared to examine.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
“Aren’t you?” His thumbs continued their gentle assault on her knuckles, sending fire racing up her arms. “Because sometimesI look at you and see someone who’s still waiting for permission to want things for herself. Someone who’s convinced herself she doesn’t deserve the very happiness she works so hard to provide for others.”
That’s not… that’s not true.
Is it?
“I want things,” she said weakly.
“Do you?” Hugo leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. “What do you want, Sybil? Right now, in this moment, what do you want that has nothing to do with duty or responsibility or taking care of others?”
You. I want you to keep looking at me like I’m precious instead of convenient. I want you to touch me the way you did in the garden. I want to stop fighting this attraction and see where it leads.
“I want…” She started then stopped, color flooding her cheeks.
“Yes?” His voice was silk and velvet, encouragement and challenge all at once.
“I want the chamomile to finish cooling, so I can drink it,” she said desperately, grasping for safe ground.
Hugo’s mouth curved in a smile that was pure masculine satisfaction. “Liar.“
He knows. Somehow, he always knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“It’s the truth.”
“Is it?” He released one of her hands to cup her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek with devastating gentleness. “Because your heart is hammering, your breathing has quickened, and you’re looking at me like you want to discover what would happen if you stopped being so careful about maintaining proper boundaries.”
Stop reading my mind. Stop seeing things I don’t want you to see.
“I’m tired,” she managed though her voice came out breathless and unconvincing. “It’s been a long evening.”
