How many times had he been left to his own pain? She dragged herself closer and inhaled to speak, but words eluded her, a cruel game of hiding and seek.
"Do you hate me, Ana?"
Sudden tiredness spread to her shoulders and chest. The weight was unbearable. Anne dropped by his side and stared ahead. Try as she might, she couldn't hate him. Not yet. But the denial wouldn't come out, either. Not yet. "What happened today?"
He shook his head, his lips crushed in a tense line.
She crossed her hands above her chest, restraining her need to curl closer and share his warmth. "Please?"
With a toneless voice, he recounted the discovery of the bodyguard's death. He didn't spare her the horrible details, and her stomach revolted at the cruelty. Then came her absence. For her, he had left his brother; for her, he had risked breaking Erebus; for her, he had chanced capture and a hanging sentence.
For her.
"When I realized you were vulnerable, that Ulrich had— " He shut his eyes and took a grieved breath. "Fear. Horrible. I never want to feel it again."
Anne stared at him, moved by what he hadn’t said. He didn't tell her that he’d experienced such fright because he had feelings for her. He didn't tell her these feelings were strong and uncomfortable and new, but she heard it all the same. Like a bucket left in a storm, he had been flooded by emotions, and they had drowned him. Anne might be naïve, as he delighted in pointing out, but she understood her own emotions. "I didn't realize we were at risk."
"Do you see the danger?"
"Never again. I promise."
With a ragged breath, he tensed to stand. Before he escaped to wherever he went to hide his pain, she slid from the sofa and kneeled between his thighs. The things yet unsaid made her bold. She tugged at his wrists and removed his black gloves. Eyes red-rimmed and unfocused, he stared at her but didn't resist her touch. Anne rubbed his icy fingers, tracing the battles etched in the roughed skin of his palms.
"I've met Mr. Fontes only once. He was dashing, and I..." She took a deep breath. "And I admired him. But after we left Vila Nova, I haven't thought of him. Not even once."
He tilted his head to the side, a renewed glint in his eyes.
"Did you kiss another yesterday?" Her chin quivered, and she swallowed the tears. "The way you kissed me?"
"I went to quench the fire you created." Pedro tucked hair behind her ear, the gesture achingly sweet. "Before it burned you."
"Did it work?"
"This fire." He rubbed his chest and gazed away. "Only you can extinguish."
Anne inhaled sharply. They were in the open waters, somewhere off the coast of Portugal, but gazing at him, she was back on the precipice—the wind ruffling her hair and the fall beckoning with inexorable attraction.
"I'm sorry you witnessed Ulrich's horror today." Anne trailed her palm from his brow to his eyelids, his long eyelashes tickling her fingertips. "And I'm sorry it put a new shadow here." She placed her palm on his chest, just above his heart.
He sucked in a breath, his eyes fixed on her. A flush swept through her skin, her pulse so fast she became lightheaded. Before courage deserted her, she kissed the corner of his mouth, his close-cropped whiskers teasing her lips.
"Ana," he croaked, and she loved how boyish he looked, surprised and unsure as if she were his first sweetheart.
Lurching from the chaise, he reached for her and picked her from the floor. She went willingly, eagerly, settling on his lap, intertwining her hands around his neck. Anne breathed in his skin. Then his mouth was on hers, and when his tongue traced her lips, she welcomed him in.
Chapter 27
Pedropulledawayfromher kiss. "Me perdoa?" Cradling her face, he peeled golden strands from her mouth and eyelashes. "Forgive me?"
Her fingertips rested against his cheek and then his chest, weightless, like feathered wings. He let her. This once, it felt right to have her hands on him. Like they belonged there.
A dainty shrug. "Done."
Pedro sagged against the recamier, bringing her close. Dusk had settled around them. An ivory lace covered the Argand lamp and filtered the light, bathing the cabin in a sleepy haze. Anne's stockings and toiletries contrasted with the golden Sèvres. Sleepers and a boot sprouted from the Gobelin he’d purchased in Paris last season. It was curious how her baubles brought life to his art. Outside, the waves rocked them, the wind too swift to be denied, propelling the yacht forward. Two days and they would cross the Nazaré underwater canyon. And then Lisbon.
"You should reconsider." Pedro closed his eyes. "There are things you—"
Her fingertip on his mouth silenced him. "I shouldn't have left, and you could've”—she frowned—"punished me, but you didn't. It's over."
