Page 43 of Singing For His Kiss

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Elizabeth. Stop! That wasn’t a mistake, and you know it.”

She paused on the stairs, shoulders rigid, back towards him. These weren’t the actions of a woman who’d just been kissed and acted as though she’d liked it. He’d been aroused beyond recognition, and it had taken a second to pull himself together after she’d bolted away. All he’d seen on her face after their mind-blowing kiss was—fear.

He knew without hesitation she’d been abused by some man. Probably recently if the bruises on her wrists were anything to go by. If he could, he’d take it all away from her. Make it that she’d never suffered, but all he could do was tell her all men weren’t like that.

He wasn’t like that.

It mattered that she trust him. Not just because of Madeline.

But because of him.

He hastened down the stairs to where she balanced precariously on a step. He stopped just out of reach, feeling, rather than knowing that if he came too close, she’d run again. She was like a frightened wild animal, sensing if she was about to become dinner or not.

Because he wanted her for dinner was not the point.

She firmed her shoulders. “I’ll understand if you want me out of the house now.”

“What the hell?” He raked his fingers through his hair, then stilled when she blanched at his explosion. He reined in emotional control. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, and I don’t want you to leave. Quite the opposite. First I kiss you like I’m a starved man and you respond like nothing else, then you tell me it was a mistake. I just want to know what’s going on.”

She flushed. “You’re my employer. You barely know me, then I’m in your arms kissing you like I have every right to. I’m meant to be your daughter’s nanny. Nothing more.”

She was bending the truth. He suspected it was only a part of the reason. A small part. She was strong. A woman didn’t just run into a winter ocean to save a drowning child without some sort of inner strength. She hadn’t even thought twice about that. There was something else, and he’d bet it had something to do with that bastard who had eroded what self-confidence she’d had.

“I want you to know, I’m not in the habit of kissing Madeline’s nannies.”

Moments passed before she glanced up at him. “I thought I was her first nanny?”

“True. But if there were, I wouldn’t be kissing any of them. I’d still be kissing you.”

“Don’t say that.”

She shook her head, and the bush worked its way over her face and stained her throat. He itched to twine his fingers through her hair, just to touch her in any way she’d accept. Instead, he ignored the urge.

“I’m telling you that because I liked kissing you, Elizabeth. I want to kiss you again if you’d let me, but if you don’t want to, that’s OK. It’s not what I want, but I’ll go about my business and never mention it again if that’s what you want.”

Moments stretched, and she didn’t answer. She fidgeted, unsure, but at least she was listening to him. He edged close enough to touch her. A tremor ran through her body, and he stilled, waiting.

“Elizabeth. I’m not him.”

She gasped, and the stricken look she speared him lanced his soul. A tumult of emotion passed through her eyes. She was hurting. Anger rose from a deep place within him, so strong he wanted to crush the bastard who had damaged her.

“You’re not… he’s not… I know he’s not you. It’s just that…”

He raised his hand, so slowly, to her face. Slow enough so as not to frighten her, as though any sudden movement might cause her to run. She was the first woman since Hanna’s death – the only woman – who made him want to live again. His soul was stirring to life after lying dormant, slowly repairing after dying alongside Hanna.

The hiding from her, the insistence that he’d somehow tarnish Hanna’s memory simply didn’t feel so important. It was imperative she understand how important she’d become to him.

Maybe they could both heal together. It was a chance worth taking.

“I’m not him, Elizabeth.”

He cupped her neck, just below the succulent ear he’d nibbled on only moments ago. His fingers slotted just as though they were made to along the slender curve of her neck. He traced the line of her jaw with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m not him.”

Her eyelids flickered closed, her face a mask of internal pain he wanted to wipe away. He watched while she waged an internal battle. One he was going to win if he had anything to do about it.

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