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To herself.
“Tougher than that, are you?” he asked, rolling her to her back and coming over her.
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And he was so incredibly gentle, taking care to make certain he didn’t hurt her.
He always had been, she remembered. Whether she was wounded or not, Duke had always been instinctively gentle with her. And he’d always found a reason to touch her.
Why hadn’t she realized this before?
She couldn’t blame it on the wound; she’d had a hell of a lot worse. This one had been easy compared to many of the others.
“I’m definitely tougher than that,” she assured him, though she didn’t sound in the least bit tough and she knew it.
She wasn’t acting tough either as her hands slid beneath the shirt he wore to touch the warmth of his skin, to feel the rasp of chest hair against her palms and feel his heart beat beneath her fingers.
Could she go back to fighting and take the chance on never feeling this again, never touching him, never being held by him?
Tracker was prone to say that “dead” meant no regrets, but she didn’t think even death would keep her from regretting the loss.
“I love you, Angel.”
She froze.
She couldn’t have heard that. It wasn’t possible. Just because she loved didn’t mean she was lucky enough to be loved; she’d always known that.
“Angel?” Gripping the side of her face he tipped her head back, staring into her eyes, the dark green of his gaze a little amused, his expression . . .
“Do you think this guy is going to be easy to catch?” She sounded breathless.
Her heart was racing so fast, so hard she could barely talk. And what was that damned shakiness in her voice? She was making a fool of herself. She knew she was.
“Angel, I love you,” he repeated.
She watched his lips form the words, heard them, knew she wasn’t imagining it.
“Why?” She couldn’t help the confusion that pulled a frown to her brow, that left her feeling a little lost, a whole lot scared.
“Because you make me laugh when no one else can. Because as tough as you are, your heart is soft. Because everything inside me screams that you’re mine.” He grinned down at her with such male confidence it should have had her ready to argue just for the hell of it.
She wasn’t arguing. She felt as though she were melting on the inside.
“I know you love me, Angel,” he told her then, brushing her hair back from her face, never once seeming to doubt his own certainty. “Just as you’ve known I love you.”
“I do love you.” The words whispered past her lips. “I do. But Duke”—her voice was shaking, all the fear she felt filling it—“what if something, or someone, takes you from me? What will I do? Don’t you understand? Losing that love, losing you . . .” Her hands gripped his wrists and she fought just to breathe. “What would I do?”
“Baby, all I can promise you is that I won’t walk away.” He laid his forehead against hers, still holding her gaze. “I won’t stop loving you. I won’t willingly leave you. That’s all either of us can give the other. But if I knew I had only a day, I’d want to spend that day loving you and being loved by you.”
“A man shouldn’t be able to say something so damned corny and still be so fucking sexy. It’s unnatural, Duke.” But she could feel emotion swamping her, stealing any sting from the words.
“Sweet Angel.” His lips lowered to hers. “Trust me. I got this.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. And she couldn’t help but hold him to her, to return his kiss, to share what she couldn’t hide any longer from him or from herself. And trust that fate loved this Mackay as much as she seemed to love the others, and would allow Angel to hold him, to love him, for a long, long time.
NINETEEN
The next morning, Angel knew she was stronger, refreshed. She actually felt better than she’d ever felt before she’d taken that knife to her thigh.
