Page 113 of Doyle

“I did. I thought,This woman is going to drive me crazy. And it’s going to be okay.”

She laughed then. He didn’t.

“You’re so beautiful, Juliet.”

He stilled, his eyes wide, his breath caught.

It was a punch right to her chest, resounding through her entire body, shattering the moment into a thousand jagged-edged shards. “What?”

“Tia. I meant—” His eyes widened. “It was a—oh, Tia. That’s not?—”

She held up her hands, her heart slamming into her throat. “No, right, it’s... it’s fine.” She turned, unlocked the door to the sanctuary.

“Tia!”

She opened the door and couldn’t stop. And yes, she knew—in the front of her brain where her common sense still survived—that he hadn’t meant it.

But she was there, wasn’t she? Juliet. His true love.

And she’d always be there, in his heart, between them, and maybe Tia could learn to live with that—perhaps it wasn’t even fair that she wanted more but...No.

“Tia!”

She fled through the church, across the sanctuary and the nave, then out the back, nearly running smack into one of the Jones, Inc. guys.

“Ma’am—you okay?”

She nodded, her throat too tight for words, and launched out into the dark, gloomy night still heavy with fog and chill and drizzle, and that seemed exactly right. She didn’t even realize she’d been crying until she reached her room, tried not to slam her door—she didn’t want to wake the entire compound—and locked it.

She shucked out of the slicker, toed off her shoes, and climbed onto the bed fully clothed, the blanket around her.

Then she lay in a ball, tears burning her cheeks as she listened to the darkness echo in her heart.

TWELVE

Please—thatdidnotjust happen.

Where had his brain been? Clearly on autopilot.

Doyle watched her go—the impulse to run after her nearly moving his legs but...

The stupid treasure sat beneath his feet and he couldn’t leave. Not with sixty million—the number still made him stagger—at stake and...

Run. After her.

He put his hands to his face, unable to dislodge his words from his brain.

“You’re so beautiful, Juliet.”

C’mon, dude!

Because not once, not even for a millionth of a millisecond, had he thought of Juliet when he was kissing Tia.

No, he knew very well who he’d kissed, the taste of her cresting over him, through him, igniting his hunger for this woman who intrigued him, challenged him, kept him running and thinking, his partner in every way?—

Tia.

In her kiss, she tasted like everything he’d forgotten, and more—acceptance and trust, and maybe also respect, and even surprise, which he hoped meant that he’d wowed her a little.

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