Page 82 of When You Are Mine

“I’m just feeling a little light-headed.” Kerris swallowed the water gathering in her mouth and twisted her wedding band. “I don’t want to pull Cam away, though. Is there somewhere I might lie down for a little bit?”

“Sure. Go up these stairs and into the first room on your right. It was Aunt Kristeene’s sitting room.” She looked Kerris up and down, her tone and eyes frozen. “No one ever goes in there.”

Jo resumed her conversation without further comment, a dismissal. Kerris mumbled a hasty thanks, brushing past Jo to climb the stairs, clinging to the rail. She slipped into the room, glad the setting sun provided some light through the partially drawn curtains. She flicked on the lamp by a recliner that reminded her of Kristeene, a delicate frame encased in tough but supple leather. She settled in, glad of the darkened room and the soft cushions enfolding her weary body.

* * *

Walsh nodded for what felt like the thousandth time when someone expressed their condolences, shared memories of his mother, or assured him that he should “take all the time he needed” to grieve. Everyone understood.

Bullshit.

He felt for the flask-shaped elixir in his interior suit jacket pocket.

“’Scuse me,” he said to the chairwoman of one of his mother’s committees. “I need to check on something.”

He had to get out of there before he really lost it. Not tears. Those still eluded him. He was more concerned about the senseless rage lying supine beneath his grief, waiting patiently to strike the nearest unsuspecting bystander. He was so ready for them to just leave. He headed up the stairs for the one place he was sure to be alone.

He knew the closed door to his mother’s sitting room would be unlocked. When he walked in, the lamp was on, which was odd. His nostrils flared at the subtle scent of vanilla reaching across the room to him. He saw the small figure slumped in his mother’s recliner and stood still as a mountain.

Shutting the door behind him, he padded across the thick pile carpet until he was towering over Kerris, relishing the small liberty of looking at her without inhibition or judgment. Her loosened hair spilled over one shoulder. He caressed the smooth face with his eyes, paying special attention to that lush mouth and the impossibly long eyelashes painting stripes on the high cheekbones. Good God, the woman was beautiful.

Kerris could be his solace. A moment in her arms wouldn’t take away this bone-gnawing grief, but she could soothe him like no one else. He knew it. The years-long loyalty to Cam wrestled with the scorching desire to hold her, have her, keep her. On a day like today, when it seemed he’d lost everything that mattered, she was the one thing he wanted for himself. But his mother would have been ashamed. Cam would be broken. Kerris, with her unwavering sense of right, would be ruined. He had to accept it. He couldn’t have her. When the food had been eaten and the mourners had all gone home, she would leave with her husband. Walsh knew it, but he couldn’t walk away from this one moment with her. So he watched and waited for her to wake.

* * *

Kerris sensed someone standing over her and cracked her eyes just enough to make out Walsh’s tall frame, hovering over her. She slowly opened her eyes, bracing herself for the vulnerability of this grieving giant. She stared back at him for a heartbeat before leaning forward, returning the recliner to the upright position. She pushed her tumble of hair back with fingers she willed not to tremble.

“Walsh.” Her whisper took back up where they always left off; as if it hadn’t been months since they’d faced each other, held each other. “What are you doing up here?”

“Escaping.” Something most people would have taken for a smile curved Walsh’s lips. Kerris knew better.

She wasn’t sure what she could say that wouldn’t get them into trouble. If she opened the door to the despair she saw behind his eyes, she wouldn’t be able to resist holding him, comforting him, and she couldn’t be the one to do that.

“I should go.”

She stood to her feet. He grasped her wrist, a gentle tether. The brief contact paralyzed her. And his eyes—burning with grief and need.

“Stay. Please. Just a minute.”

She knew there was a comfort he found in her that he could find nowhere else; with no one else. She didn’t understand it, but she knew it. She reached for his hand, tangling their fingers.

“Are you okay?” She probed beneath his rigidly controlled expression.

“No.”

“You will be,” she said, her words soft like cotton.

Walsh stared over her shoulder at the recliner she’d just vacated. She tugged gently on his hand. Pulling his glance back to meet hers.

“I feel so lost.” His voice cracked down the middle, but didn’t break. “I don’t…I don’t know if I can…if I can…I can’t cry. I was at the funeral in a church full of people crying, and I couldn’t cry. Why can’t I cry? I kept thinking I had to get through the eulogy without crying. Just don’t cry. And now, I can’t. I can’t…”

Without thought, she bent her elbows, laying her forearms and palms against his back, drawing him close enough to feel his heart slamming into hers. He bent to the curve joining her neck and shoulder, pushing her hair back and resting his head there. She felt him sigh, and then breathe in deeply, as if filling his lungs with fresh air. She could feel him blinking against her skin, still fighting the approach of the tears he thought he’d longed for, but was afraid to give in to. She began to sway just a little. She’d seen mothers rock their children to comfort them, though she’d never experienced it herself. The motion seemed to loosen the grief lodged inside of him. Something had slipped and set it free, leaking it in rivulets across her shoulder and inside her dress, down her back, leaving a warm, wet trail of heartache.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Walsh marked the time by her heartbeats against his chest. He knew he should let Kerris go. Hehadto let her go, but couldn’t make himself do it. His body, so weighted with loss and inexpressible grief for the last few days, selfishly burrowed into this bastion of comfort, refusing to relinquish it. She stirred, starting to pull away. His arms clenched around her small frame before he told them they could. He pressed her head to his chest, breathing her in.

“Wait. Just a little longer.”

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