Page 45 of Beyond the Cottage

Why was he even torturing himself with this? Affection couldn’t be purchased. It could only be earned, and he’d thoroughly fucked up that possibility.

He turned, tidying papers to give his hands something to do. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked it of you. Our bargain is complete.”

She sighed. “I’ll try again.”

“No.” He set the bottle at her elbow. “It’s yours."

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal. I know what that sample is worth, and I’d say your terms are ludicrously in my favor. Comehere.”

Another protest climbed his throat, but his body drifted toward her before the words got out. Apparently, his need for this exceeded his pride.

She looked him over as though weighing the logistics of their height discrepancy. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

“Um,” she said. “Do you want my arms around your neck or waist?”

Both, at the same time.

“My waist.” It wasn’t his actual preference, but it would be easier for her.

She rested her palms on his ribs, testing the feel of him. When her arms slipped around his back, he closed his eyes.

As ever, her scent nearly knocked him over. It was strawberry-wine and lemon, sweet but no longer girlish. Like her, time had developed its character, making it more complex. He’d been starved for it.

His arms carefully folded around her. He didn’t dare much more, except bending to rest his cheek on her head.

A memory of holding her like this in the cottage rushed in. After some atrocity he couldn’t specifically recall, they’d hidden in the pantry, cuddling on a sack of sugar. She’d clung to him—I couldn’t have meant nothing to her!—and stubbornly fought tears.

Ansel surprised himself by pushing the memory away. He didn’t want the past distracting him from the present. This felt…different. She was still Gretta but not.

And he liked this version of her. Before he knew her identity, it had required mental gymnastics to convince himself otherwise, but it was undeniable now. She was vulgar and volatile, but she was also interesting. If he’d been the one to stumble upon her in Antrelle, he could easily see himself smitten, whether they recognized each other or not.

The loss of what might have been overwhelmed him. When he hid his stinging eyes in her hair, she tensed, and he knew it was over. He forced himself to let go.

Instead of releasing him, her hands clutched his shoulder blades. She crushed him to her, pressing her face into his chest.

Except, that wasn’t possible.

Ansel stood there dumbly. To be safe, he held his arms out, giving her room to back away. She only held him harder.

Rational thought disappeared. He wrapped her up again, tighter than before, and exhaled brokenly into her hair.

What the hell are you doing, Gretta?

She had no idea. The need to stay in his arms was innate, totally out of her control. He was bigger now, and much more damaged, but their connection was still there.

Goddammit, she’dmissedhim. She’d been homesick for this without realizing it.

He hunched lower, and his arms shifted along her back, holding her closer. “I missed you so much, Gret.I missed this.”

She tensed. His deep voice reminded her this wasn’t her Ansel.

Sliding her palms to his waist, she pulled her face off his chest. He loosened his arms without removing them.

“Hug’s over,” she said. “Let go.”

“You first.”

She ripped her hands away, and he slowly removed his own. His eyes searched hers, bewildered, hopeful.

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