She felt a tiny surge of amusement at the thought of Fane being anyone’s prey.
The massive warrior was two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle and raw male power. He was also one of the rare few who was completely impervious to her ability to poke around in his mind.
Which was a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because it was impossible for a psychic to completely block out an intimate partner, which was a distraction that would make any lover cringe. There was nothing quite so demeaning as being in the middle of sex and realizing your partner was picturing Angelina Jolie.
And a curse because Fane was about as chatty as a rock. His feelings were locked down so tight Serra feared that someday they would explode.
And not in a good way.
Or maybe it would be good, she silently told herself, gliding to a halt directly in front of his half-naked form.
There weren’t many things worse than watching all emotions being stripped away as you approached the man you’d loved for the past two decades.
Especially when she was a seething mass of emotions.
She wanted to grab his beautiful face in her hands and kiss him until he melted into a puddle of goo. No. She wanted to kick him in the nuts for being such a prick.
Maybe she’d kick him and then kiss it better.
To make matters worse she was on a lust-driven adrenaline high.
Just standing next to his half-naked body coated in sweat made her heart pump and her mouth dry.
God. She was so fucking pathetic.
Accepting that her companion wasn’t going to break the awkward silence, she tilted her chin up another notch.
Any higher and she was going to be staring at the ceiling.
“Fane,” she purred softly.
His dark gaze remained focused on her face, resisting any temptation to glance at her skimpy vest. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the rare times she’d caught him casting covert glances at her body, she might suspect he hadn’t yet realized she was a woman.
“Serra.”
On the way to the gym she’d practiced what she was going to say. She was going to be cool. Composed. And in complete control.
Instead the fear lodged in the pit of her belly made her strike out like a petulant child.
“You’re leaving?”
He gave a slow dip of his head. “I’m returning to Tibet.”
The fear began to spread through her body, her hands clenching at her sides. “Did you ever intend to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?” she snapped. “On your way out the door?”
“Does it matter?”
Oh yeah. He was definitely getting kicked in the nuts.
“Yes, it damned well matters.”
He remained stoic. Unmoved by her anger. “What do you want from me?”
She lowered her voice. It wasn’t that she gave a shit that they had an audience. Living in Valhalla meant that privacy was a rare commodity. But she had some pride, dammit. She didn’t want them to hear her beg.
“You know what I want.”
Something flared through the dark eyes. Something that sliced through her heart like a dagger.
“It’s impossible,” he rasped. “I’ll always care for you, Serra, but not in the way you need.”
She should walk away.
It’s what any woman with an ounce of sense would do.
But when had she claimed any sense when it came to this man?
Instead she stepped forward, bringing them nose to nose. Well, they would be nose to nose if he didn’t have six inches on her.
“Liar.”
He frowned, the heat from his body brushing over her bare skin like a caress. Serra shuddered. Oh God. She’d wanted him for so long.
It was like a sickness.
“A Sentinel doesn’t lie.”
She snorted at the ridiculous claim. “Maybe not, but you can twist the truth until it screams. And the truth is that you’ve always used your duty to Callie as a shield between us.”
His fists landed on his hips, his eyes narrowing at her accusation. “My duty was more than a shield.”
Okay. He had a point.
His bond with Callie had been very real.
But that didn’t mean he hadn’t hidden behind his obligation as a guardian.
“Fine.” She held his gaze. “And now that duty is done.”
He was shaking his head before she finished speaking. “My duty to Callie is done, but my duty to the Sentinels remains.”
She clenched her teeth. It was true most Sentinels never married. But it wasn’t against any rules.
Niko had just returned to Valhalla with a wife who promised to be a valuable healer, and Callie had married Duncan who’d recently become a Sentinel.
It might demand compromise and sacrifice on both sides, but it could be done.
So why was Fane so unwilling to even give it a try?
“I assume that’s going to be your new excuse?” she forced between gritted teeth.
Without warning his expression softened and his fingers lightly brushed down her bare arm.
“Serra, I don’t need an excuse,” he said, the hint of regret in his eyes more alarming than his previous remoteness. She was used to him pretending to be indifferent to her. Now it felt like . . . good-bye. Shit. “I’ve never made promises I can’t keep,” he continued, his tone soft. “In fact, I’ve been very clear that you should find a man who can give you the happiness you deserve.”
For one weak, tragic moment she allowed herself to savor the brief touch of his fingers. Then her pride came galloping to her rescue and she was jerking away with a brittle smile.
She would endure anything but his pity.
Hell no.
“Very generous of you.”
He grimaced at her sarcastic tone. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I’ve ever wanted was your happiness.”
“And you assume I’ll find it in the arms of another man?” She went straight for the jugular.
The hesitation was so fleeting she might have imagined it. “Yes.”
She leaned forward, infuriated by her inability to read his mind. Dammit. Just when she needed her talents the most she was flying blind.
Was this how humans felt?
This maddening helplessness?
It sucked.
“It won’t bother you at all to know that I belong to another?”
“I will be . . .” He took a beat to find the right word. “Content.”
“Bullshit,” she breathed, unable to accept he was actually prepared to walk away from her.
“Serra—”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”
He refused to be provoked. Worse, that pity continued to shimmer in his dark gaze. “I’m not going to play games with you.”
“Because you can’t do it,” she snarled. “You want me. You’re just too much a coward to do anything about it.”
“Find another, Serra,” he warned, a muscle in his jaw bulging as he reached down to grab his towel and stepped around her. “Be happy.”
Her heart screeched to a painful halt. “Where are you going?”
He hesitated, but he refused to turn around. “To pack.”
She glared at the broad back covered in swirling tattoos. God. He was destroying her.
Did he ever care?
“When are you leaving?”
“In the morning.”
Not giving her the opportunity for further discussion he simply walked away, his shoulders squared and his head held high.
“Bastard,” she breathed.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Debbie Raleigh
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quot
es used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-2515-3
First Electronic Edition: June 2014
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3514-5
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3514-7
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