sat up and laid her cheek on the back of his shoulder, tracing the latticework of scars with her fingers. Fletcher curved away, always self-conscious about his disfigurement, the ugly visible evidence of his ordeal. He didn't want more questions he couldn't answer.
She embraced him, her chest pressed against his back. "It's all right, Zack. I've known since the first night that while the bruises on your body were healed, the wounds on the inside were still bleeding. You talk in your sleep." She sighed. "Whatever the woman did must have been horrible because she's taken your warm and generous heart and walled it in where no one else can touch it."
Fletcher yanked her around to face him, crimped the narrow shoulders and glared at her. "How do you know I have a heart at all?" His nostrils flared as he snorted and snarled at her. He knew the rasp gave his voice a truculent harshness when he ground out his words. "You don't know anything about me. Unlike you, I'm not in the habit of telling my life's story to anyone who will listen." He shook her. "My God, Sage, you don't even know if Zachary is my real name!"
The troubled and shocked expression on her face constrained him. In a heartbeat he realized he was hurting her with his steel grip, that he had wounded her deeply with his brutal words. He clamped his eyes and shook his head. What the devil am I doing? Contrite and mortified by his roughness he swept her into his arms, crushing her to him, trying to undo his cruelty.
"I'm sorry, Sage; I'm so sorry," he whispered with his face in her hair. He rocked her when a single tear dropped onto his arm and he felt her uneven breathing while he held her close. He was truly a beast. "I'm a boorish brute, and you'll soon be well rid of me. Don't cry; please don't cry. For me you've been like a wondrous wildflower among brushwood. You made me realize that I still have human feelings left inside me. That scares me, don't you see? It makes me doubt myself and what I have to do or I'll go mad." A groan came from deep within him. "It was easier when I didn't care. Don't cry, sweet; I never want to make you cry."
Sage withdrew from him. "I'm not crying!" She sniffed and wiped her hands over her eyes. "As I told you before, I'm not a helpless female in need of rescue. I was fine before you came, and I'll be fine after you leave."
Fletcher cupped her face and kissed her hard. He leaned his forehead into hers. "I know you will. That's one of the things I adore about you." Wetting his lips, he devoured her lovely face with his eyes. "God—I'm going to miss you."
"And I you." With an anguished cry, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him to her.
Moments later, she whispered in his ear. "Zack?"
"Yes, sweet?"
"Tell me your real name."
He only hugged her tighter. "I can't."
Sage sat back, and her brows rose. "You can't or you won't?"
How could he tell her who he was when he wasn't entirely sure himself? His mind was still muddled. Everyday of the last months had brought new revelations and new questions. He knew a name, that was all, and a lifetime of long ago. But the world had changed; he had changed. Quite possibly Fletcher Stedman belonged to a world which no longer existed. His dead years still contained dark, blank spaces that tortured and worried him. Could he tell her that the man before her, the man she held, the man whose hair her fingers entwined, contemplated murder with his every waking breath?
Taking her face between his palms, he gazed into her eyes as sincerely as he knew how, hoping his eyes would tell her what he could not. "I can't."
"All right," she whispered, never breaking the eye contact that pinned her. She glided her hand over the scars of his chest, sending shivers through him. "But don't ever think I don't know the real you—here inside. Call yourself by whatever name you want. It won't change what's here, even though you have it buried under layers of fear and hate." She kissed him. "I'm here, Zack. Love me. Let's not waste what little time we have left together." She kissed him again. "Love me so I can remember you when you're gone."
Sage. She knew he wasn't Zachary Brown and wanted him, even nameless. Perhaps in her innocence she saw some goodness remaining in him that he had yet to see himself. In her presence, he wished that it were true, that he'd not been entirely consumed by the vengeful monster. A foreign sweetness surged through him, soothing the wounds and tempering the hate.
In a volcanic turmoil, he could no longer fight against the walls of his restraint. With her heady invitation came an onslaught of desire and his body won the tumultuous battle. He gathered her in his arms and pulled her to the pillows. He buried his face in the hollow of her throat as his fingertips touched her temple, folded themselves in her tresses, caressed her shoulder, then slid down her back to rest in the curve of her spine. He pressed her to him, feeling her breasts through the thin wrapper.
"Sweet Sage, you are so lovely," he murmured. The fluttering pulse in her neck tingled under his hand as he held her captive in his embrace.
For the moment he released the cold knots of vengeance, allowing her warmth to be his driving force. The others and their final retribution could wait. Tonight he would find release in this willing female. Tonight he would give in to the desires he had held in check for so long.
Smoothing the hair on both sides of her head, he kissed her with gnawing hunger. Feeling her soft curves and the light touch of her fingertips on his back and along his thighs made him shiver. His need was great but he didn't want to hurt or frighten her—not this exquisite creature beneath him who had touched him and helped him in ways she'd never know or even understand.
She cried his name, "Zachary," and a shudder coursed through him.
Please no, not now...not that name, that hated name.
Zachary, who would be leaving soon; Zachary, who had no emotion but hate; Zachary, who had a mission that could not be ignored or forgotten.
He raised from her and balanced himself on his forearms.
She must have sensed his reluctance because she wrinkled her brow and rose to kiss him.
"I can feel something's wrong? What is it? Tell me."
With a groan and a harsh sigh of resignation, he slid away and lay on his side. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, tried to slow down the blood racing through his body and into the throbbing swollen part of him that would find no luxurious release this night.
"It's her, isn't it?" asked Sage in a velvet tone, brushing the hair of his chest.
At the touch of her fingertips, Fletcher inhaled sharply and drew his chest muscles inward. "Don't," he murmured as gently as he could through clenched teeth. His body trembled, struggling with his desire. "Don't touch me yet, not yet."
"It's Kyndee, isn't it?"
It took several minutes for Fletcher to find his voice again. He opened his eyes. "No, it's you."
He saw hurt and humiliation on her face just before she turned on her side away from him. "I'm sorry I've displeased you," she muttered, "but I've never..." Her words drifted to a whisper and faded away.
"We both know I'm fully aware that you've never—" He curled his arm around her and pulled her near to him. Her back to his chest, he drew in his knees behind hers and surrounded her, enfolded her with his body, his newly won control threatening to vanish as he pressed close to her. He teased the errant chestnut strands from her face before he laid his cheek against her hair.
"Sweet Sage, it's the
