Page 112 of Legacy of Danger
Mariah rubbed sandpapery eyes as her alarm buzzed. Snowy dawn gave the room a cool, gray light, and she missed the warmth of snuggling in Vaughn's arms. She stretched muscles that were sore from another night of sheer bliss.
She had floated with him on a cloud of passion and tenderness for hours last night. The gentleness and connection stunned her.
If she had questioned whether she should stick with Vaughn and give their relationship a try, if she had wondered if she could support him as he worked through his serious issues, the morning brought clarity. Everyone had baggage. God, she had her fair share.
It's what you did despite the setbacks that counted.
Was it the earth-tilting sex that made the decision to try for a future with Vaughn? Didn't hurt.
But honestly, it was the man himself. The solid guy who tormented himself about things over which he had no control. The man who put others before his own interests. The man who had gone through hell and come out better on the other side.
She pulled on her pajama pants and a sweatshirt. A flutter of excitement swirled in her belly. She could do this, tell him how she felt. Whatever the future held, they would face it together.
Weightless effervescence propelled her into the living room.
Vaughn stood in front of the living room window, hands gripping the curtain rail, his back to her, his big torso blocking the early dawn light.
"Good morning," she called, eager to sink back into his arms.
He turned, stiff. Mechanical. The hard planes of his face were indistinct in shadow.
Clicking on the lamp next to the couch, she froze. That sensual mouth that had given her unending pleasure last night was now jammed into an unyielding, grim line. That gold-glinting gaze that had curled her toes last night had gone cold, like pyrite in a polluted streambed.
Maybe he was tired. Did he doubt her feelings? Of course. How could he know? She hadn't told him anything yet.
Squaring her shoulders, she approached him. This time, though, proximity to Vaughn didn't create any warmth.
In fact, the temperature dropped ten degrees.
"Feeling better?" he asked, not moving.
"Better?"
"Better than yesterday."
"Sure." She pulled back. "What?"
"I hope I made you feel better." His words came out flat. Dead.
Unable to form words, her mind raced to catch up, leaving her mouth gaping open for too long. "Pardon me?"
He blinked and a flash of intense hunger flipped back to the cold boredom. "You deserved to feel good after the danger I exposed you to yesterday."
"That wasn't why—" Her voice caught. "What happened on the ranch wasn't your fault." She gulped past a hard lump. "Look, I—"
He stopped her with a slash of his hand in the air. "No, let me say this. I had plenty of time to think last night. This... fling—whatever we have here—needs to stop. Now." His statements sliced through her like fiery whip lashes. "It was fun for a while, but let's face reality. There's no future."
"Wait, what?" How she heard him with her heart pounding double time, she didn't know. It was hard to fill her lungs. Nausea crashed into her in churning waves.
His hands balled into fists at his side, but his expression remained etched in granite. "It's for the best. I'm blowing out of town soon anyway. Don't get me wrong. Things were great for a few days. What a stress reliever, huh?" Another pained crease across his brow, then it went ice rink smooth and cold. "You're smoking hot and smart as hell. But let's get real. You don't fit in with my family. I don't fit into your life. This little fling was never meant to be anything serious."
This little... fling? The one time she'd trusted someone with her heart and soul.
And he'd thrown it away like stinky trash.
You don't fit in...
Had she imagined their connection? Had her feelings truly been so one-sided?
