Page 32 of Tormented Hearts

“Go on.”

“I hiked from the school grounds with basically nothing—no plan, no map, just this inner knowing that I could figure it out. I didn’t get very far up the mountain, but by the time anyone noticed I was gone, I’d been out there for hours.” She smiled at the memory. “When the search party found me, I was singing. Twirling, actually. Arms out, the whole thing. I sang the song so many times that I was getting hoarse.”

“And your father?”

“I thought he’d hit the roof. Genuinely thought I was about to get the lecture of my life.” She shook her head. “When I got to the base of the mountain, he just…told me we were going home.”

Hawk’s expression softened more.

“He didn’t say a word about it.”

“Home as in back to the boarding school?”

“No.” She gazed at the mountains instead of him. “To our house in Boston. I didn’t have to go back to the boarding school again.”

“So you got what you wanted in the end.”

Her lips curved up in a gentle smile. “I suppose I did.” She let that sit for a moment.

When she finally looked at Hawk—really looked—she noticed things she’d been carefully trying not to notice.

The way the beard he hadn’t had time to shave in two days made his jaw look even more sharp, more dangerous. How the rays of the sun turned his eyes to green fire.

Suddenly, she wanted, with a force that shook her, to touch him.

She gripped the pouch of berries tighter to remain in control, but the eleven-year-old girl who’d walked out of a boarding school with nothing but confidence and conviction hadn’t stopped to weigh consequences.

That girl had taken a risk.

That girl had gotten exactly what she wanted.

I don’t know what’s stopping you.

Her heart missed a beat.

Sinead reached out and touched his jaw, dragging her fingers softly over the rasp of his beard.

He stilled under her hand.

She watched his lips, waiting for some snarky remark that would put distance between them.

He leaned in first. Just enough.

And she closed the rest of the distance and pressed her lips against his.

His lips were much softer than she expected for a man built entirely out of hard lines and controlled violence, and the contrast alone was enough to make her breath catch.

He didn’t move at first, like he was giving her the choice to pull back, to laugh it off, to blame it on the sunrise and the berries and pretend this was nothing.

She didn’t pull back.

His hand came up slowly, cradling the side of her jaw as if she might startle and bolt if he moved too fast, thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone, and the restraint in that touch undid her more than urgency would have.

Then he angled his head, deepened the caress, and the softness gave way to something hungrier underneath—like he’d just run out of reasons to bother holding himself in check.

She felt the low sound he made against her mouth more than she heard it, felt it travel straight through her chest and settle low in her stomach. His beard rasped against her skin, rough where his lips were soft, and the combination of the two sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the brisk mountain air.

She curled her fingers into the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer, and he came without hesitation, sliding one hand to the small of her back like he’d been waiting for an excuse to put it there.