Page 39 of Charmed

He rounded her, fury vibrating from him. "I think the world of you."

She lifted her gaze and found sincerity in his.

"If you haven't figured that out by now, then I need to be more clear." He ducked to look in her eyes. "We both knew I wasn't the hero in our scenario. You've been the knight from ground zero. You've been carrying the burden. I just told you the crux of why that is, but—"

"You are not weak!" Her voice reverberated off the walls and rang in her ears. He reared, but she kept going, ignoring the hammering of rage in her temples. "It takes more bravery to weep than it does to bottle the tears. It takes an increasingly infinite amount more bravery to admit you are capable of crying. Strength is not repeating the cycle. Strength is evolving into the kind of man your uncle will never be."

He opened his mouth, but quickly closed it. Eyes wide, he stared at her.

Goddess, what was she going to do with him? Huffing, she stalked toward the changing room. If she didn't get out of here and away from him, she was going to lose it. She'd rather charge into a gunfight wielding a knife than try to wrap her head around the emotions he inflicted. Give her bruises any day over this.

"Fiona," he rasped.

Reluctantly, she stopped, but didn't turn.

"I think we found one of your triggers. Celeste might be onto something with the angry comment." The soft undercurrent of humor in his tone hovered between them.

Her lids drifted shut while she fought the urge to laugh, cry, scream, and run into his arms in the same swift beat. "And you just proved who's really wearing the armor. It sure isn't me."

Chapter Eleven

Riley keyed in the code to the mansion's library and shoved through the doors. The others glanced at him from their respectable positions, but he strode right across the hardwood planks decorated with a massive area rug, ignored the floor-to-ceiling shelves containing volumes of the world's first edition titles, and headed straight for the corner bar.

"Are you all right?" Kaida asked, her voice tentative.

"Peachy." He scanned the wall-mounted liquor case above the back shelf while flames crackled in the ornate-carved ivory fireplace.

Meath men loved their whiskey. They could feed a small third-world country with the cost of one of the five single malts on display. Dalmore 64 Trinitas, circa 1868, was in a red decanter and black wooden mold, holding some of the rarest vintage on earth. And untouched. He and his brothers had made a pact to crack the seal if they got through this destiny thing alive. Beside it was a bottle of 1937 Glenfiddich, a 1926 Macallan, a 1919 Springbank, and an empty diamond decanter of Isabella’s Islay.

He settled for Jameson, sensing Tristan's heavy gaze on him long before his brother spoke.

"How did it go?"

"How did it go," Riley repeated numbly, trying to figure out that conundrum himself. He'd taken Fiona home not ten minutes ago, and he still hadn't regained a normal heart rhythm.

He glanced at Tristan, leaning against a colossal oak desk, then at Ceara, Kaida, and Brady, sitting on one of the stiff, scroll-armed Chesterfields that faced one another.

Laughing without mirth, Riley downed the two fingers in his glass and poured four more. "We think it's a good idea for you to go over there, you said. You might be the only one who can help her, you said." Carrying his tumbler, he moved to the vacant sofa and sank into it. "Do me a favor. Next time you have a brilliant plan, just douse me in honey and throw me on a fire ant hill. Okay? Okay."

Kaida's lips twisted in sympathy. "That bad?"

Worse. "When I got there, she was wearing sweats. Sweats," he emphasized. "She had gummy bears stuck to her shirt, was halfway through a bowl of popcorn the size of Pluto, and Lifetime Network was on TV."

"Eeesh. That is a downgrade. She was watching Forensic Files when I visited this morning."

Ceara canted her head. "Lifetime's not so horrible. They have some good girl-power movies."

This earned a nod of agreement from Kaida. "The cooking shows are pretty decent, too."

"Totally. I think they have a bad rap, personally. Project Runway rocks."

"Oh, and Army Wives. I love that show."

Riley tilted his head back and glared at the vaulted dome ceiling where a mural of cherubic Renaissance angels stared peacefully at one another from puffy white clouds. Someone please shoot him.

"What was she watching?" Kaida inquired. "That might give us an idea how far gone she is."

"I wasn't paying that close attention, considering I was trying to not pass out cold from shock. Something about a holiday love story and Santa."

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