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Now he stepped forward and took her in his arms, held her tight, so close that she could feel the strength of his compassion, his sympathy, his empathy, the extent of how much he cared. She wrapped her arms around him and returned the pressure.
When he spoke it was over her head, his voice raw with emotion. ‘I wish with all my heart that I could turn back the clock for you—that I could somehow protect you from the loss and pain you have endured.’
‘Thank you.’
Eventually they pulled apart and he looked at her, his dark eyes intense. ‘Stay,’ he said, the one word filled with meaning.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘In the meadow I asked you to stay in Lycander. I’m asking again. Stay. Here. With me. For a week, a month, a few days.’
For a stupid, wonderful instant she wanted to say yes, to stay for a while—but then she shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t work. Right now you’re feeling sorry for me, and that is no basis for any sort of relationship.’
‘This isn’t to do with pity.’
‘Then what is it to do with?’
‘I want to spend more time with you. Isn’t that what you suggested I do? Go on a date? Try for more than short-term physical gratification?’
‘I did. But not with me.’ Tears prickled the back of her eyes and she blinked hard, refusing to allow them exit.
He reached out and took both her hands in his, his grasp gentle and yet full of strength and reassurance. ‘Yes, with you,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we spend some time together because we want to? See where it could go. No expectations, no promises...’
‘I can’t do that.’ The very idea caused panic, a visceral fear, to judder through her. ‘And you deserve a woman who can—a woman there’s the possibility of a future with. I have nothing left to give. I can only maintain my cage—my insulated bubble, as I prefer to think of it. These past weeks I’ve ventured out—with you. I’ve had a taste of the world outside my bubble. I’ve experienced joy and happiness and anger, and I’ve witnessed pain and suffering. Now I need to go back into my bubble.’
Hurt flashed across his face, followed by acceptance, and in that instant she knew exactly what he was thinking. That he wasn’t enough—wasn’t enough to make her want to stay out of her c
age. That what he had to offer was insufficient.
‘It’s not you.’ How could she make those clichéd words real? ‘Don’t you see? I can’t do it. It’s too much, too scary.’ And he deserved so much more than her.
‘It’s OK.’
His deep voice soothed her.
‘I understand—and you’re right. It was a stupid idea. Not because of you, but because of me. I hope that one day someone will come along and entice you out of that bubble.’
Helplessness assailed her, along with an absurd desire either to pummel his chest with her fists or throw herself against him and burst into tears.
Could she agree? Could she stay with him? See what happened?
No. Because she knew what would happen. She would fall for him...plummet into an abyss of emotion that she could not deal with. So all she could do was get out. But the thought of leaving—right here and now like this, when they had both shared so much—seemed impossible. Seemed wrong.
‘That won’t happen,’ she heard herself say. ‘But I hope that one day you will find happiness and love and have the chance to be a dad. I know you’ll make a great one.’
And still she couldn’t bring herself to leave...couldn’t pull her hands from his. Realisation hit her like lead. It was too late—she had already fallen. She loved him, and was already mid-tumble into a mire of sensation and feelings.
No. She punched the knowledge aside in sheer repudiation. This wasn’t love—it was confusion...a need to say goodbye properly.
She looked up at him. ‘Marcus?’
The word was half-question, half-entreaty.
‘Could we...could we have one more night?’
There was no need for further words. He pulled her into his arms and relief, gratitude and desire enmeshed her. A small moan escaped her lips, and then all else was forgotten in their bittersweet embrace as he swept her up into his arms and carried her from the room.
* * *
