Page 92 of Winter’s Fire

She was looking at him again. “She said… you love her. That she’s a real submissive, and I’m not, and—”

“When did she say that?”

“When we were left alone. She told me… about you and her. Repeatedly.”

“And you believed her?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Her gaze took on that air of distance before she looked away again. “When I thought about it, it made perfect sense.”

His girl spent way too much time in her head—something he planned to take care of at the first opportunity. “What made sense?”

“She’s everything you want. Everything I’m not.”

She still wouldn’t look at him. Something about the end of the bed must have been fucking fascinating. “What do you think I want? And what makes you think you’re not it?”

She ignored his questions. “I didn’t—don’t want to get in the way of you two.”

“And if I told you there’s nothing for you to get in the way of?”

That got her attention. Hope briefly lit her gaze, then it flickered and died. “You still wouldn’t want me.”

“Explain.”

The sadness in her gaze set off an ache deep in his chest.

“I’m not submissive enough.”

“Submissive enough? For what? To be a ‘true’ submissive? For who? Me? Or some dickhead Dom wannabe you haven’t even met yet?” His tone alone should be enough to get the truth out of her.

“I’m not like Diana! I can’t do clingy and coy.”

“Thank God. Get your head out of your arse. Don’t you think that if I wanted to be with Diana, I would be? But ask yourself this first—why would I want to be with her when I could be with a strong, courageous woman, who’s beautiful inside and out? That’s if she’ll have me.”

When Lucy looked at him again, it was with that wide, unguarded gaze that made him long to be worthy of the incredibly special woman she was.

“You said…”

“What?”

“You love me.” She said it as if his declaration had only just got through to her.

“Too damn right I do. Are you going to ask me if I meant it?”

“I don’t need to. You’ve never said anything you didn’t mean.”

Her eyes were shining, and even as he watched, a single tear left a glistening trail down her right cheek. Logan remained calm, determined not to let the moment—or the tear—get to him. The choice was hers to make—he prayed she’d make it with her heart and give him the right to lay his hand against her cheek and brush that tear away… the right to ensure she never had cause to cry again.

“Right. So why would I start now?”

“You wouldn’t.”

The very idea was crazy. She looked at Logan, and saw a man with nothing to hide. Almost in a trance, she lifted her hand to cup his cheek. Stubble rasped her palm, but that was nothing with the heat of his hand enveloping hers.

“Are you going to put me out of my misery, princess?”

Lucy teared up again. “I hated it when you first called me that.”

“I know. Do you still hate it now? If you do, I’ll stop.”