Page 96 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Her smile faded as she laid a gentle hand to his cheek. “No, Brec,” she whispered, determined that for the first time in her life, when it came to love, she was going to do things God’s way instead of the world’s. “I’m testing your love.”

“‘Obey the LORD your God and all these blessings will be yours,’” Chase had told her once, quoting Deuteronomy 28:2, a Scripture that now calmed her spirit despite the scowl on Brec’s face. Chase’s advice came drifting back, comforting her now as much as it had after Tyler’s betrayal.

“I want the cherish kind of love the Bible talks about, Chase, not the selfish kind where a man puts himself first before me.”

“Everybody does, Molly. Problem is, it’s only available when we put God first.”

She looked at Brec now, past the frustration ridging his brow and knew he was capable of giving her that kind of love, and her, him. But as a good-looking player used to getting his own way with the ladies? The poor guy just didn’t know how. Her mouth softened into a tender smile edged with resolve. But he was about to learn. “Do you love me, Brec?” she whispered.

“Holy martyrs, Molly, you know I do!” Eyes flashing, he shoved her hand away.

She paused, well aware her demands were the test of fire, able to end any love they harbored here and now. But then that’s what God’s precepts did—the test of fire to purify, removing the dross to leave only the gold.

“Then love me God’s way, Brec,” she said quietly, “not yours, and you have my word that I will do the same, forging a relationship that will reap blessings for a lifetime.”

He stared, and she watched as that fiery temper for which he was so famous slowly diminished in his eyes while he cradled her face in his hands. The scowl gave way to an intensity of love upon which she had come to rely. “So, help me God, I will, Molly, if it takes your bloomin’ gun to do it.” Eyes shuttering closed, he leaned in to caress her mouth with the softest of kisses, finally wrenching her close to tuck his head against hers. She felt the lift of his smile before he pressed a kiss to her hair. “And I’m not joking, lass …”

Grinning, she pulled back to skim his bristled jaw with her fingers, quite sure it wouldn’t be easy, but then anything really worth it never was. “So noted, Striker Man, but something tells me this could be a short dating period followed by an even shorter engagement.”

“Aye,” he said in a gruff tone, jerking her back to kiss her soundly, unleashing tingles from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.

Oh, my, yes!

Battling a moan, she quickly wiggled away, holding him at arm’s length with an arch of her brow. “Which only leaves condition number two.”

A groan trailed from his lips as he shoveled blunt fingers through his hair. “Jaker’s, lass, what do you want now—blood?”

“No, not blood”—she chewed on the edge of her lip, knowing full well that this condition would be the hardest of all—“I want you to forgive your father … and read his letters—”

His head was shaking before she could even finish her sentence, his mouth in a mulish press. “I will, Molly, someday, but not now. “I’m not ready.”

She studied him with a quick fold of her arms—the clamp of his jaw, the fire in those blue eyes, and the compression of lips so white, she knew she had a battle on her hands. But this was a battle she not only had to win, but would win—for him more than her. “Well then, this?” She waggled her finger between them. “Not ready either, mister.”

Something hissed from his lips before he jerked her to him, face so close, she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. “Oh, it’s ready, Princess, make no mistake about that. So, yes, I’ll do your bloody bidding, but it’s going to cost you a pretty penny, lass.” And heaving her onto his lap, he dipped her back to kiss her so thoroughly, his moan immediately merged with her own. Breathing shallow, he swooped her back up with a smug look that smoldered along with the heat in his eyes. With a wicked grin, he buried his head into the curve of her neck, mouth skimming up to give her earlobe a warning tug with his teeth. “And the price for that, Princess,” he said, suckling the soft flesh of her ear, “will be one of these for every bloomin’ letter I read.”