Desperation clamoring in his chest, Culross focused only on Meghan.
“Two days, Meghan—but it wasn’t just two days, right?”
He held a hand out.
Pale, she tripped over her beautiful bare toes to get away.
He recoiled.
She was afraid of him.
No. She hates you.
Tears filled his throat.
Meghan hugged her arms around her middle and looked about the room.
He saw her thoughts spinning.
He saw it in the way her freckled brow creased.
In the way her endearing pert nose puckered.
And her mouth.
His throat buckled.
Ah, God.
That mouth.
Those lips he’d coaxed and learned.
I want to start over…
He opened his mouth.
To tell her.
To beg her.
Meghan stilled and finally brought her gaze around to him.
And that foolish hope died like a whisper in a storm.
“But that does not undo the fact that they are ruined, August,” she whispered.
His eyes blurred.
Burned.
Must have something in them.
Culross rubbed.
Then realized—
They were tears.
