Page 25 of Final Vendetta

“I found the closet in your house. I wasn’t snooping or anything,” I added quickly when I noticed his expression change, his muscles going rigid. “I went looking for you. But when I walked into what I thought was your room, I saw the closet. If it can even be called a closet. Most closets have flooring and walls. They’re not stripped down to the studs.”

He pulled away, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for bringing up what was obviously a sensitive subject.

But that didn’t stop me from pressing on, despite his silence.

“Is that where you usually slept?” I ran a lithe finger along one of the many scars dotting his chest.

“It is.”

“Why?”

He glanced my way, briefly hesitating. Then he pushed out a long sigh.

“After sleeping on the ground for years, I’d grown accustomed to it.” He scooped my hand in his and pressed a softkiss to it. “It wasn’t until I spent the night with you in Pebble Beach that I felt comfortable in a bed again.”

I swallowed hard, my heart aching at what he’d endured, even if I didn’t know most of the details. But Iwantedto know the details.

Wanted to know everything.

“What was it like?”

“Spending the night with you?” He faced me and hovered his lips over mine, sending a thrill through me. “Heaven.”

His mouth moved against mine in a tender kiss.

Just when I started to deepen it, he pulled back, as if consciously not wanting to get me worked up. It was killing me that we couldn’t be intimate. Maybe then I wouldn’t be confused about what to think about this new version of Gideon. Maybe I just needed that connection again. A reminder of who we were to each other.

“That’s not what I mean.” I gave him a knowing look before lowering my voice. “I’m talking about where you were. Where they kept you. What was it like?”

He stared at me for several long moments, and I braced myself to hear the worst of humanity. To listen to his suffering, his pain, his torment.

Instead, he released a slow breath and shook his head, leaning toward me and touching a tender kiss to my forehead. It was such a Samuel thing to do. Not something Gideon Saint would.

“It doesn’t matter.” He cupped my face with his calloused hands. “I made you a promise at the hospital. And I intend on keeping that promise. No more looking back.” He inched his mouth toward mine once more. “Only looking forward.”

“I appreciate that.” I ran my fingers through his dark hair. “But I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk about it. I want to know that part of you. Like it or not, what you went through willalways be a part of who you are. The man you were will always be a part of who you are.” I erased the last bit of space between us, my lips brushing with his. “Gideon Saint will always be a part of who you are.”

“No, Imogene. He’s not.” His expression was even, devoid of even a hint of the passion and fever I’d grown accustomed to from this man.

From this face.

“Gideon Saint is gone. It’s just me. Just Samuel.” He pulled me into his arms, and I listened to the steady thumping of his heart. “YourSamuel.”

“My Samuel,” I repeated, although my words lacked even a hint of enthusiasm.

I should have been content with his desire to put the past behind him. If anyone would understand wanting to do that, it was me. Hell, I’d moved across the country so I could do just that.

But hearing him say that Gideon Saint was gone?

My heart broke at the thought.

It was like I was in love with two completely different men, even though they shared the same body. But was I actually in love with Samuel Tate after all this time?

Or was I just in love with the idea of him?

Chapter Twelve

Imogene

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