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“Give it to me.” And as he said the words he knew they were the right ones, even though in one way they made absolutely no sense. But it was what Cate needed to hear. He didn’t know how he knew, just that the knowledge was branded into his consciousness. “Let me carry that burden for you, sweetheart. You’ve carried it long enough.” The endearment slipped out, but Cate either didn’t focus on it, or she accepted it—he wasn’t sure which.
“I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking. I’m volunteering. There’s a difference. Let me do this for you.”
“Liam.” Just his name, but his heart ached at the way she said it. As if he’d given her something wondrous. Something precious and dear to her. Something she’d never forget.
* * *
Emotion welled up in Cate’s throat as Liam made her that offer, thinking about how wonderful it would be if she could surrender her past to him. If he could take the shame and guilt and pain she’d harbored inside her since the day she became Vishenko’s prisoner, if he could free her from the weight she’d carried all these years.
Even though she knew—rationally—the only one who could free her was herself, the idea was tempting. Seductive. Nearly as tempting and seductive as it felt being in Liam’s arms. So strong. So protective. In the shelter of his embrace was the only place she wanted to be...now and always.
But that was crazy thinking. No matter what Liam said, her past would always color her future—which meant she could never have a future with a man like him. No matter what he said now, he couldn’t erase the knowledge of what she’d been...what she’d done...from his mind any more than she could. No matter how much she wanted to.
And she did want to. She wanted that more than anything in the world. More than she could ever put into words. She wanted it with an intensity that swept everything else aside, an intensity she’d only felt once before—the hate she had for Vishenko.
But what she was feeling now wasn’t hate—far from it. A new emotion unfurled tiny petals deep within her as she laid with her head pillowed against Liam’s shoulder. An emotion she didn’t dare name, but which made her wish in a hopeless, helpless way, she could tell him what his offer meant to her. Not just now, but in the future. She would never be completely free of her past. But maybe, just maybe, the guilt and shame could be banished...with Liam’s help.
Before she could stop herself, she pressed her lips against the warm, bare column of Liam’s neck, so invitingly close.
* * *
Liam’s entire body was electrified when Cate’s lips brushed his skin. He tried not to respond, quickly tried to diagram and parse a complex sentence in his head to get his mind off the fact that he was holding Cate the way he’d dreamed of holding her...and she’d kissed him. But his body had a mind of its own, and she was having a totally predictable effect on him. An effect he’d be damned if she realized. He tried to surreptitiously pull away, tried to shift in the rocking chair so she wouldn’t notice him swelling against her thigh, but it was already too late.
Their gazes met, and Cate’s eyes held the knowledge that he wanted her—how had she put it?—that way. The knowledge in her eyes was followed by acceptance. And instead of making Liam glad, it made him angry. Not at her, but at himself. At the world. And most especially at Vishenko.
“It’s okay,” she told him, raising one hand to cradle his cheek.
“No, it’s not,” he said abruptly, catching her hand with his and forcing it away.
“You want me.” She swallowed noticeably. “I don’t mind, Liam. I don’t.”
His anger spilled over. “I don’t want you to not mind,” he grated. “I want you to want it, too. As much as I do.”
Her pale blue eyes darkened as shadows filled them. “I can’t.” Regret colored her words, and Liam knew in her heart she believed it. “Even though I want to, I can’t. He...he killed that part of me,” she whispered. “I can never...feel those things other women feel.”
Liam wasn’t given to believe in divine intervention. But he suddenly knew—as if God was whispering in his ear—what he had to do. For Cate. Because it had just become his personal mission—his quest for the Holy Grail—to prove her wrong. He had to prove Vishenko hadn’t destroyed the inner woman when he’d tortured and abused her body. He had to prove she could feel what other women felt...when the act was done out of love.
The knowledge that he loved her wasn’t the revelation he’d thought it would be. It had grown on him steadily, inevitably, like an incoming tide, until he finally accepted it with nothing more than an Of course! As if he should have known it all along. Love. All consuming. All encompassing. Flooding his body with an awareness he felt even in his fingertips.
