“Well, when you say it like that... But you didn’t feel like just anyone. You still don’t. And that’s half the problem.”
“I know what you mean.”
The crinkles deepened. “Samira, you sound scared. You know I wouldn’t deliberately do anything to hurt you. Which is why I can’t—”
“I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of a lot of things but not you. I’m kind of scared of...”
He waited, smiling, like he had all night. The firelight picked up yellow flecks in his eyes. He’d given her the invitation. She just needed to lean forward a fraction, tiptoe and...
“I’m scared of the way I feel right now,” she said hurriedly, clinging with both hands to the top of the counter behind her back. “I’m scared that it’s not real. But worse than that, I’m scared it is real.” She puffed out a breath. “That all sounded a lot more logical in my head. I’ve spent so much time alone... Is this crazy?”
“The whole situation’s crazy but that’s not your doing. There’s one thing in all of this that makes complete sense to me. Possibly the only thing. And that’s you and me. I know we’re very different but if you’re feeling even half what I’m feeling for you...”
“Awo.Possibly even double what you’re feeling because...this...”
“But, Samira, it can only be temporary. I’ll be returning to the Legion once all this is over, and...” He paused, swallowed. “I probably won’t see you again.”
“I understand. I’m not in a place to commit to anything either.”As much as I might want to.
“This is not the wine talking?”
“It may be the wine that’s allowing me to do the talking but, believe me, this is all my words, my feelings. You’re right—I just want to run away and hide from all this and I can’t and that’s making me so... But maybe just for a little while, just for tonight, I can forget. It seems like a good idea, yes?”
He laughed. “It seems like a good idea...I love your thought process—the little I can understand of it.”
Her lips throbbed. She didn’t know lips could throb.Just one tiptoe, Samira.He’s waiting for you. He wants you and you want him and that’s okay.
He slid one hand to her hip. Oh God, just that touch. She was turning to jelly. She forced herself to release the counter. Had she ever wanted anything more, wanted anyone more?
Latif. Had she ever wanted Latif this much? She froze, her arms stuck by her sides. Maybe she just couldn’t remember the early days of their relationship or she’d been too young to recognize the feelings beyond the pure physical reaction. Maybe it was normal to have such a strong attraction at the beginning of a relationship—the anticipation, the buildup. Maybe her body remembered Jamie, knew what was coming. And maybe it was normal that the attraction would one day wear off, that sex would settle into enjoyable but no longer mind-blowing, the connection would settle into comfort but no longer spark. No longerthis. Was that why people cheated in relationships, to get this feeling—the breathlessness, the delicious bubbling in her belly, the aching heat between her legs?
It’s not cheating when he’s dead, Samira. You’re not betraying him. You’re moving on. Well, not even moving on because this thing with Jamie is going nowhere beyond this cottage.
“Shite, Samira, stop thinking.”
“Sorry, I’m—”
A thump, outside. He clamped his hands on her upper arms, listening. Scuffling, footsteps. Oh God. He pulled away. His hand went for his hip—he was wearing his holster, in here? He snatched the fish knife from the kitchen counter, the blade glinting.
“Hide, Samira,” he hissed. He strode to the backpack and pulled something out. He pressed his back against the stone wall beside the nearest window, pushed the curtain aside and peered out through the gap between window and blind.
Hide? Where? As he went window to window, she crept into the bedroom. The bed went almost wall to wall. There was no closet but the stone walls were thick. She squeezed in behind the bed.
In the living room, a click, a scrape, a swish. Jamie was climbing out a window? Outside, multiple footfalls clomped on damp earth. Had her camera trap failed? Was it Hyland’s goons? The police? What if they killed Jamie? Should she try to sneak out, too?
Her chest pinched. She pressed her hand to it. A few minutes ago she hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to beat any faster.
Jamie, be okay.
Come back to me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THECOLDFOLDEDaround Jamie. His breath puffed out in front of him. The noise had come from the northeast, near their car. He stole across the wet grass of the front yard and crouched beside an unruly line of shrubs that’d once been a hedge. All was still, as if the fog were clamping everything in place.
He laid the fishing knife on the grass and opened the first-aid box, wincing at the click. He quickly loaded a sedative into a syringe. The quieter the weapon, the more chance of taking down any goons one by one, without gunshots to give him away or attract police—assuming they weren’t already here. The fog was perfect cover for a silent ambush.
Something stirred on the loch. Water swished and lapped at the stony beach. A bird? His shoulder hurt like fuck.
