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“Jesus.” She rolled her eyes. “When you dig your heels in, you damn near root yourself.”
“Not ‘damn near’,” he countered. “I’m serious about this, Bev.”
“We’ll see,” she added, almost under her breath.
He considered telling her about Amy. Surely she’d understand and wouldn’t ever bring this up again.
Didn’t she know that not turning her when he knew he could—and they’d have the rest of eternity together if he did—was just as painful as if he broke his oath to himself and did the deed? There was nothing easy or fair about this situation. He was already remorseful and angry with himself for inadvertently having changed her fate. Stolen centuries from her. To top it off, she was bruised and battered because of the way he’d made love to her. Because as an immortal, she’d been strong and able to withstand his passion. But as a mortal… No way.
She was right. He really would have to be more careful with her.
Or stay away from her altogether.
Back to that moral dilemma. The one he hadn’t wanted to face all evening. He’d wanted to make love to her over and over again, make their one night together last as long as he could. Then he’d leave. Leave town. Leave Bev. Leave everything he’d ever wanted, needed and desired far behind.
Europe. He’d intended to go back. He’d made up his mind when they were talking about the complexity of their situation earlier, not fully knowing how the other was truly impacted by this unexpected romance. This passionate love.
Damn it. He really did love her. And it would be the worst kind of torture to live without her. To worry over her. To learn, someday, that she was gone for good.
Dead.
How would he ever live with that?
His fists clenched at his sides.
No, the worst torture would be if he turned her and she despised him in the end for doing it.
The way Amy did.
“The sun’s coming up.”
Bev’s soft voice penetrated his dark, dismal thoughts. His head snapped up and he stared at her. So beautiful. So fragile. So perfect, even as a mortal.
“Even my closet has a skylight,” she said. “There’s no escaping the sun in this house.”
He nodded. “I can’t take you with me. It might terrify you. To see me during the day.”
?
?It wouldn’t. You’d still be you. But I’ll stay here. Moving isn’t really an option right now.”
He sat back down on the edge of the mattress, carefully. His fingers swept over her jaw up to her warm cheek. “It kills me to know you’re in pain.”
“It’ll pass. I don’t feel like there’s an excessive speed to the inevitable deterioration of my body. My guess is I’ll heal just fine. Only infinitely slower than I’m accustomed to.”
His gaze dropped to her hand. The one that been sliced open by the kitchen knife a week ago. “You really will have to be careful, Bev. Please. For me.”
She smiled. “We wouldn’t have to worry about that if you—”
“No.” He stood. “Try to rest. I don’t suppose you have any painkillers?”
“Never needed them. I don’t even have a first-aid kit. I lied about that, sorry.”
“Necessity,” he said, understanding completely. “I may not be as old as you, but I’ve been around long enough to know the drill.”
“You don’t have to rub that in, you know?”
“I can get a little mileage out of it. I’ve never made love to a six-hundred-year-old woman.”
