Page 35 of Her Magnificent Mistake
How could she hope to prove him guilty of murder if she was still in love with him?
Murderers did not make good lovers, Marcia told herself sternly. Except he had been. Dear God, he had been.
In the last few days, she’d reached her goal of being at his side. It turned out she hadn’t needed to pretend to be a silly girl, a simpering debutante, or a seasoned seductress. She’d just needed to be herself…and the two of them had fallen into an easy camaraderie, as if no time had passed.
As if he hadn’t broken her heart.
As if they hadn’t shared that ridiculously passionate kiss in the gazebo.
As if he hadn’t apologized for what they had been…
Marcia’s eyes fluttered closed as she realized she was chewing on her bottom lip. How often since that kiss in the gazebo had she tried to recapture that sensation of his lips, his hands, on her? She’d touched herself, lying in bed each night, wishing he’d burst through the door and claim her.
Claim her as if he cared.
As if he hadn’t stopped loving her.
And he never had.
Sighing, Marcia pushed the thoughts away, determined to enjoy the day. After all, she was in paradise, was she not?
“A bit farther, and we’ll tie the horses.”
At Hawk’s announcement, she opened her eyes and tipped her head back in awe. The Glen had narrowed to a sheer cliff, perhaps twenty feet high, on one side of the stream. Farther?
“There’s a handy spot up ahead.” Hawk was smiling in excitement. “Out of sight of bandits, with plenty of grazing and the burn for water.”
Sure enough, they turned a bend and the afternoon sun was blocked by the cliffs. “Perfect,” he announced, swinging from his saddle. It wasn’t a graceful movement, but Marcia had always liked that he was unapologetically himself, and today was no exception.
With a bounce in his step, he crossed to her animal before she had a chance to make a decision, and tugged the reins of both horses until they were in a position he approved of. Then he moved to her side.
Without words, Hawk lifted his hands to her waist. As if watching some other person, some other couple, Marcia leaned into his touch and allowed him closer. With a slight grunt, he lifted her from the saddle, his silent show of strength always endearing to her.
When she was settled on her own feet between him and the horse, he didn’t release her.
Her hands went to his forearms, her gaze locked on his.
“Marcia,” he whispered.
And she wondered if he was thinking about their kiss.Hopedhe was thinking about their kiss. Desperately wondered if that kiss was about to be replaced by a new memory, a new moment?—
“Yes, Hawk?” The air was charged between them, and she found herself leaning toward him, stretching up on her toes…
But then he swallowed and stepped back. “Are ye hungry?” he asked gruffly.
Hungry? Her stomach was in knots.Yes. Famished. Gasping.“Um…no. Thank you.”
With an abrupt nod, he turned to reach for the basket tied to his saddle. He used the leather straps to sling it across his shoulders, then held out his hand.
To her.
His expression was blank—carefully so—as he waited to see what she would do.
Marcia tried to remember to breathe again. He was a murderer. A murderer whose touch made her shiver with longing and heat all at once. A murderer she loved.
Yes.
She placed her hand in his, and his fingers twined through hers. And as he turned toward the trail leading along the burn, she saw him smile again.
