Nightingale by Cathy Maxwell

Author:Cathy Maxwell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter 7

Jemma was leaving him again.

Dane couldn’t believe she could do it twice. Had she not felt anything for him, even in the last hour? Or did she think him a bloody fool?

Perhaps he was. He’d trusted her, hadn’t he? He’d believed she’d been as emotionally moved as he’d been by what had transpired between them. He’d thought that this time things would be different.

Theirs had been no ordinary coupling. The earth had shaken for him. Being inside Jemma, joined with her as one, had been the one thing he’d ever wanted in life. In those too precious moments of fulfillment, he’d been more whole, more alive than ever before—and he’d fallen in love . . . all over again.

Or maybe he’d done that when she’d touched his scar, when she’d acted as if she could feel the pain he’d suffered. In that single moment, everything he’d suffered—the hardships, the deprivations, the fears—had been worth the risk.

Jemma had the power to turn his emotions inside out, emotions he’d denied himself for so long. She brought down all barriers . . . and he could not trust her. She bartered in cold tender.

There was fear in her expressive eyes, and something else, something like disillusionment. Dane didn’t care. “Take off your clothes,” he repeated.

Her jaw tightened, and the fear disappeared. It was as if she mentally withdrew herself. A wall went up inside her, and it was fascinating to watch. Was this stony creature Jemma? Or was she the woman he’d held in his arms, the woman who’d given herself with such abandon?

“I can’t do anything if you hold my wrist,” she said, her voice cool.

He released his hold—and she charged for the door.

Furious, Dane bounded out of the bed after her, heedless of his nakedness. He reached the door before she did.

“You would run?” he demanded, blocking her way. Why didn’t she care?

“We’re done,” she threw at him. She pushed her hair back out of her eyes. “Let me leave.”

A deadly calm fell over Dane. He understood now. Jemma was no better than any whore. Finally, the dream died. She really had come here for no other reason than to convince him to withdraw from the duel—and he almost hated her. Almost as much as he hated himself for having believed.

“I thought you wanted me to cry off from my meeting with your brother,” he said, his voice quiet.

Her brows came together in a worried frown. “I’ve met the bargain.”

“No, Jemma. It isn’t over until I say it is.” He began walking toward her, and he was fully aroused and ready again.

She backed away. “You’re angry.”

“I am.” In the full-length mirror by the desk, he caught a glimpse of their reflections. They could have been actors playing their parts.

Her hip hit the corner of his desk. She started to move aside, but he blocked her path with his arm. She whirled in the other direction. He caught her wrist.

“No, Jemma, no more running,” he said and turned her wrist over. He placed a kiss on the delicate skin.

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