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He didn’t respond.
“Do you think Carmen would want this to be how you remember her?”
“I killed her,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to forget. And I don’t want to forgive myself. I don’t deserve that.”
“So this is your self-imposed punishment? Living here, far away from friends and family, alone and furious with yourself, hateful of the world?”
He lifted a shoulder, as if to say ‘why not?’.
“She lost her life.”
“And you’re forfeiting yours.” The words were tinged with bitterness. He met her gaze then, his gut rolling at her obvious sympathy. But her next action caught him off guard. Slowly, she lifted onto the tips of her toes, watching him the whole time, her eyes impossible to read.
“You’re wrong, Gabe, but that’s not your fault.” She pressed a hand to his chest, moving incrementally closer. “The fact you’re living like this is proof of one thing only.”
He braced for her condemnation, because surely she meant his guilt?
“You have a huge heart, and it’s filled completely with goodness. Only someone good could be feel this bad.”
The words were the last thing he expected and so he wasn’t braced to inure himself to their impact. They landed in the pit of his belly, spreading warmth even as he sought to douse that. He didn’t deserve to feel pleasure nor happiness, nor, God help him, an alleviation of his perpetual pain.
Her kiss sparked his blood, and the lifeline she offered – to obliterate their conversation and his thoughts, and all his sadness – raced through him, so her tentative contact was no longer sufficient. He crashed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and fast, tasting her until she moaned, then lifting her easily, carrying her away from the kitchen and their conversation, confident that making love to Isabella offered a form of temporary salvation – and he was selfish enough to take it…
10
IT WAS STILL EARLY when she woke, dark outs
ide, though the snow had stopped falling. Isabella stretched gently, her fingertips brushing Gabe’s side. She lifted up onto her elbow, watching him, studying him, grateful that in this moment of repose, she could look without explanation.
Awake, he was so hard-edged, his face set, his shoulders stiff, tension radiating from him at all times. He lived as though he had a ghost at his back and now she understood: he did. Sadness rolled through her. His grief was real. His guilt almost impossible to stem. She didn’t want to wake him and yet she needed to touch; she wanted to feel him, to pleasure him, to wipe his grief away once more.
She’d seen his darkness and presumed it was immovable, but that had been wrong. His darkness was a shell, assumed as a form of penance, a shell he was determined to keep hold of, but it could be moved. Bit by bit, she was sure he could be freed from it.
His chest moved rhythmically with each breath he drew in, his lips parted as he exhaled, so she shifted quietly at first, pushing the sheet back from his body and straddling him in one movement, his cock between her legs.
Heat spread through her, memories of the way they’d made love all night burning her blood. How could she want him again already?
It had never been like this for her before. She was floundering, losing her footing and unable to care.
He was beautiful and despite what he might think, he was good and moral, kind and caring. What a waste it was that he chose to keep himself tied up in this castle, far away from people, punishing himself with every waking moment for an accident that had been, by and large, outside of his control.
She kissed him awake, moving her body over his as she welcomed him inside, smiling against his lips at the guttural groan that escaped from deep within his soul. A storm raged outside, but here in Il Nido, there was only this moment, this perfect, pleasure-filled moment. She wanted to make him smile and laugh, because he deserved that. Understanding the source of his pain had liberated her from its effects. He wasn’t rejecting her, he was rejecting life. Pushing people away had become his default position, yet he couldn’t push her away – not while they were snowed in together. He’d tried, and failed.
For whatever reason, they were drawn to one another, and there was no sense fighting it. There was only surrender and delight.
“I thought you’d hate me too.”
She blinked at the words he spoke into the room, milky dawn light gradually lifting the night’s darkness.
“Why?” She frowned, pulling her head to his chest, listening to the thundering of his heart. “Because of the accident?”
He made a gruff sound as her fingers traced the line of his tattoos.
“I don’t hate you, Gabe. I feel sorry for you.”
She felt him stiffen and instinctively knew sympathy was the last thing he wanted. Sure enough, a moment later, he shifted. “I’m going to go for a run.” He stepped out of bed, naked and glorious, so her eyes followed him even as her heart began to thump with a hangover of insecurities.
He drew on a pair of shorts, then turned back to her, a frown on his face.
