Page 72 of The Shape of Silence

When he finally drew back, Avery was breathing unsteadily enough that irritation immediately followed.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she murmured.

Morggán frowned but then lifted one brow, one arm still around her waist. “Ye canna respond as ye do, Avery, and tell me ye dinna like it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Heat rose rapidly into her face, which she ducked, studying her hands on his chest. “I just...” She paused, searching, the words proving more difficult aloud than they had inside her head. “I don’t want to like you any more than I already do.” She felt rather than saw the shift that came over him then. It didn’t feel like softening, but rather as if he were bracing himself. “You’ll leave eventually,” she continued before she lost courage entirely. “Or I’ll...” she let that trail off. “Or worse, you’ll be...” She swallowed and shook her head, also unable to mention aloud his possible death. “I don’t want to become attached.”

For several moments Morggán said nothing at all, but continued to hold her captive with his stare and his arm. Then he closed one large hand gently beneath her chin, lifting her gaze back toward him despite her obvious attempt to avoid it.

“I’m nae your parents,” he said quietly. “Nae any kin of yours, nor the man before me—I willna leave, Avery.”

But maybe I will, her brain responded automatically.

Still, the certainty in his voice struck some painful chord inside her chest because she believed he meant it completely in that moment—Morggán was not a careless man, nor one inclined toward easy promises, she believed—and yet she suspected promises never mattered much against God or fate or simple mortality.

Although Morggán’s hand remained warm against her face and although some desperate, selfish part of her wanted very badly to believe him, Avery merely lowered her eyes again and said quietly, “Not even you can control that.”

“What troubles ye? Yesterday and now today.”

“Nothing,” she said, the denial coming so quickly that she regretted it almost at once, knowing he wouldn’t be able to let it go.

“Nae?”

She forced herself to meet his eyes again, wishing she could meet his gaze with greater confidence and peace, wondering how that would feel—to stand in his arms and hold his piercing gaze, thinking only of his warmth and his touch and his attention.

“There’s just a lot going on here,” she said evasively. “Obviously, I’m not used to it.”

His gray eyes narrowed a bit in speculation before he decided, “Ye are keeping something hidden.”

Her lips quivered until she clamped them and shook her head decisively.

At this, Morggán’s hold loosened, and he stepped back.

She felt the distance immediately and acutely, instantly bemoaning the loss of his arms around her. This was not only a physical withdrawal, she somehow understood.

Trying to salvage...something, she offered, “I don’t know how to...tell you.”

“Jesu, lass,” he snarled, “what could ye possibly mean to say—”

“I don’t know,” she cried.

He watched her, his nostrils flaring a bit. “Ye dinna ken? Or ye simply willna tell me?”

Lips trembling outright now, she confessed. “Both. I truly don’t know, and... I’m afraid to tell you.”

He seethed for several seconds before demanding, “Tell me this much: when first I met ye...” he hesitated, seeming almost unwilling to continue. “Ye told me there was nae husband.”

Avery gasped. “There isn't.”

“And nae man waits somewhere for ye?”

“N-no.”

His gaze never left hers. “Is that truth?”

“Yes!”

He let out a slow breath, though it did little to ease the tension across his shoulders.