“Ginger says you’re being sensible and cautious.” Flora plopped into the chair Ginger had vacated. “Dreadful qualities in a romance.”
“I’m not—this isn’t a romance.”
“Yet.” Flora’s grin showed her sharp teeth. “But it will be. The cards have spoken.”
“You read tarot cards?”
“Among other things.” Flora waved a dismissive hand. “The point is, you’re overthinking this. That boy needs someone toshake him out of his self-imposed martyrdom, and you’re just the woman to do it.”
“That boy is a respected physician who’s made it clear he’s not interested.”
“Bah! He kissed you in the snow like his life depended on it. That’s not disinterest, that’s terror.” Flora leaned forward. “Tell me, child. When a man is afraid of something, what’s the worst thing you can do?”
“I don’t know. Respect his boundaries?”
“Exactly!” Flora smacked the arm of the chair for emphasis. “You need to prove to him that his fear is unfounded. You show him he’s been worrying over shadows and mist.”
“What if his fear isn’t unfounded? What if he really is dangerous?”
Flora’s expression softened. “You’ve seen his other side. Did it frighten you?”
She thought about the green eyes glowing in the darkness and the huge hands that could crush rock but had cradled her face with infinite tenderness.
“No,” she admitted. “It felt… protective. Safe.”
“Then the danger he fears isn’t real. At least not for you.” Flora stood, smoothing down her tracksuit. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take that journal you’ve been hiding in your desk—yes, I know about it, I know about everything—and you’re going to take it to him.”
“I can’t just show up at his house?—”
“Why not? You have something that belongs to his family. You’re being a responsible archivist by returning it.” Flora’s smile turned sly. “What happens after that is up to fate. And perhaps a little bit of magic.”
She bit her lip. “What if he turns me away?”
“Then at least you’ll know. But I don’t think he will.” Flora patted Chloe’s hand with surprising gentleness. “That man has been alone too long, carrying burdens that aren’t his to carry. Sometimes people need permission to want what they want. Be his permission, child.”
After Flora left in a whirl of yellow and cryptic wisdom, she sat at her desk and stared at the drawer.
Be his permission.
CHAPTER 11
The sound of the doorbell yanked Victor from the medical journal he’d been reading for the third time without retaining a single word.
Chloe.He knew who it was before he reached the door. He could feel her presence, warm and insistent, pulling at something deep in his chest. Hyde surged toward the surface, eager and possessive.Ours. She came to us.He forced Hyde back down, straightening his shoulders and schooling his expression into careful neutrality before opening the door.
She stood on his porch looking nervous and determined, one hand clutching her bag, the other pressed protectively over her stomach. The setting sun caught in her dark brown hair, turning it golden at the edges, and her warm brown eyes met his with an openness that made his chest ache.
“Hi. I’m sorry to just show up. I tried to call but—” She stopped herself, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “First of all, thank you for the coat. And the furniture.”
Hyde purred, pleased to have provided for her, but he forced himself to nod coolly.
“Since you insisted on working under those conditions, I wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible.”
Irritation flashed in her eyes for a moment before she shook her head.
“As a result of those conditions, I found something. Something that belongs to you, or your family.”
That was… unexpected. He’d assumed her visit had something to do with the kiss or the three days of careful distance he’d maintained. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed.
