“Death,” she says, repeating what I’ve told her.
“Yes. Death. That is the honest truth I would tell no one else.”
“I guess I’m selfish with you because I need you to share more.”
“It’s okay to be selfish about wanting more from me. I’m damn sure selfish about wanting more from you.”
“And yet you’re not saying more.”
I open my mouth to shut her down, but I know it’s a mistake I don’t want to make with her. “I will. Not now. Not tonight. But I will.”
“When?” she presses.
“Soon.”
She leans back and holds my shoulders, searching my face. “Promise.”
That my promise matters to her is everything, and to give it to her and not mean it is a betrayal I know we would not overcome. “Emily,” I breathe out, not wanting to see the fear in her eyes that I myself fear that this part of my family, of me, will stir in her.
“You aren’t really going to tell me, are you?”
There is defeat in her voice that I am certain will turn to withdrawal if I let it, so I cup her face. “Damn it, woman, you’re stubborn. I will soon. I promise.” My mouth comes down on hers. One stroke of my tongue against hers, and we can’t get enough of each other, some sense of needing to hang on, between us. She can’t get enough of me, and I can’t get enough of her. Our bodies sway and rock and I forget the promise. I forget everything but her touch, her taste. But when finally we are sated, her body in front of mine, her back to my chest, I hold her close, listening to her steady breathing. And then, I think about that promise I cannot betray. I have to tell her about Martina and it has to be soon. But I will not put fear in her eyes. I will end this before I tell her, no matter what I have to do to make it happen.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EMILY
I wake to a shadowy room, with the light of a new day peeking through the curtains hiding the wall of windows in the bedroom, the scent of Shane lacing the air, the sheets, and my skin, but he is not here. I know this even before I roll to my back, and I am not surprised at his absence. He is troubled. He is fighting a war against not just his family, but also himself. I know that now, and it makes his silence on some matters easier to swallow. I glance at the clock, noting the seven A.M. hour, proof I’ve slept later than I should have, and that the shadowy room must mean that the snow Shane walked through last night is still with us.
Stretching briefly, I climb out of bed, the chill of the room unfriendly to my naked body, sending me scrambling for my robe. Finding it on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, I pull it on, and grab the sash from the floor. I inhale, staring at it, the memory of Shane ordering me to give him my hands coming back to me. But it really wasn’t an order. It was a question, timed on a night I’d spent worrying about him, and questioning myself. I waited for hesitation to come to me, but there had been none. His admitting to me that he was tempted to the dark side was a confession my stepfather would have never made. Shane is a good man in a bad situation and I’m not sure how to help. I just know I have to try. He also blames himself for Brody’s death, which is very confusing. How could he be to blame for a car accident? I don’t let myself go where that might lead me. Shane promised to tell me what’s going on. I believe he will.
I walk to the closet, flip on the light, and look at the row of clothes Shane bought me, his words replaying in my mind: Don’t tell me I can’t do that for you, the woman who is the one good and right thing in my life. He’d shut down my objections with a statement that says much to me about where his head is now. The world of law had been right and good for him. Brandon Enterprises isn’t even close to his passion, but it will be if he can run it the way he believes it should be run. I refocus on the clothes, and while it’s hard to shake that feeling of being a kept woman, as I believed my mother was, in my heart I do not think that was Shane’s intention. I also believe the last thing he needs right now is for me to reject a gift that my instincts say was from his heart. And I haven’t even thanked him, a situation I need to remedy.
Allowing some excitement to rise in my belly, I start looking through my options, which are insanely wonderful. I can’t even choose what to wear and I start trying things on, loving almost everything. Finally, I have a long-sleeved pale pink Chanel dress picked out and I kneel on the floor to dig through a bag, where I find ribbed black tights.
“Do you like the clothes?”
At the sound of Shane’s voice, I turn to find him leaning against the doorway. He is the picture of tall, dark, and handsome in a charcoal-gray suit, perfectly fitted, the pinstripe a pale gray that matches his shirt and tie, not to mention his eyes. He is refined masculinity, with dark, neatly styled hair, but something about it looks different today. “Is your hair wavy?”
“More than I like. It was curly when I was a kid.”
“Curly? Really?”
“Oh yes. I hated it. You didn’t answer my question: Do you like the clothes?”
“Yes. I do. Very much. Jessica has amazing taste, and she, and you, spent way too much money. Thank you.”
“I’m glad they please you. I would have sent you yourself but you wouldn’t have gotten what you need.”
I grab a tag. “I don’t need a fifteen-hundred-dollar dress.”
“You do if it pleases you.”
“Shane, I don’t need you to do this. I need you. Not clothes, but I don’t want to sound unappreciative. You doing this is special, but I don’t need you to take care of me.”