trembling hand.
He allowed her a small retreat, but held her hips prisoner in his palms. “You wanted me then. You want me still. It’s a solid enough base for a marriage.”
“I let you into my bed because I loved you, not to satisfy hormones. Sex isn’t solid. It’s a moment.”
“A moment you’ve lived with for nine years.” His thumb glided gently over her still-moist bottom lip. Her skin pulsated in the trail of his touch. The shadow of memories played on his face, softening the harsh lines around his mouth, deepening the amber of his eyes to that mellow brandy that made her forget logic. “Can you honestly say that you don’t want me?”
Still and always. “You hurt me once. I won’t let you hurt me again.”
But physical love wasn’t enough. She wanted more—she wanted permanence. She needed an emotional connection, too—soil that would allow roots to grow deep and strong. And he wasn’t prepared to give her that. She needed to release the lingering something between them. Only then would she be free to go on with the rest of her life without the tug of nostalgia.
The kettle’s water, spilling over the red-hot burner, hissed, diverting his attention. As he released her, a mixture of regret and relief scrambled through her, drawing a long exhale of breath. No other man could run up her temperature so high and so fast. He’d once made her feel safe and loved. He’d once made her believe in forever. And it had all turned out to be illusion. Hands pressed against the refrigerator’s humming surface, she became aware of the returning acid storm in her stomach.
Daniel made a near ritual of filling his mug with water and stirring his coffee more vigorously than necessary before he turned to face her. “There’s something between us that even nine years hasn’t erased. Armand’s counting on that. He’ll use it, Christiane, and destroy us both.”
“I don’t understand.” She rubbed at the chill permeating the thick layer of her coat.
“And I don’t know how to explain it.”
She leaned forward, drawing her arms tight under her chest, pleading. Talk to me. “Try.”
“Armand wants something from you.”
“What? What could an old man possibly want from me?”
Daniel took a hasty sip from his mug, then grimaced as the hot liquid burned his tongue. “I’m not sure.” He slammed the mug down. Coffee spilled over the side, steamed in a ghostlike breath, then pooled on the counter. “But by sticking together we have a better chance of defeating him than by standing alone being played one against the other. Whatever else you do, you have to trust me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Except you. You’ll hurt me, Daniel.
A piece in a game. That’s what he’d called her earlier. The stakes for her—her identity, her heart, her daughter. Whether she stayed or left, she risked everything. For him? A question mark, and no enlightenment on the horizon.
Would he really use Rosane against her? Was it fair to keep Rosane away from her father and keep her from knowing her roots? It was, after all, what Christi sought for herself. Maybe if she allowed Daniel to see Rosane, he would understand it was better if he didn’t upset their ordered lives.
She huffed a ragged sigh. A headache echoed the pain searing her stomach. “You’ve the right to know your daughter, and she, you. But promise me something, Daniel—”
“Anything.”
“Promise you won’t try to take her away from me under any circumstance.”
“I’ll do anything to keep you both safe.”
“Promise me,” she insisted. “I need to hear the words.”
From across the kitchen, the harsh light above the sink cut his face with grim shadows and rigid lines. But the amber of his eyes was clear and vibrant. “I promise.”
The solid timbre of his voice, the unbending look in his eyes, the shred of soul reaching out to her told her he would do everything he could to keep his word. Part of the storm inside her ebbed. “Thank you.”
She pushed herself off the refrigerator’s surface and stuffed her hands deep into her coat pockets. “I need time…to tell Rosane about you.” Christi lifted her shoulders and shook her head.
His cup halted midway to his mouth. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Christi lowered her gaze to the black and white checkerboard of tiles on the floor, then raised it again. “She thinks her father’s dead.” An almost imperceptible flinch flashed through his eyes. “I’m sorry. But in a way, you were dead to both of us. Please. Give me time to prepare her.”
He nodded curtly. “I’ll give you a week.”
“It may not be enough.”
“One week, Christiane.” He stamped his cup against the counter with impatience. “Then you’ll have to marry me and let me take my rightful place in her life. Or you’ll have to leave.”
Leaving would be easier. A short-term remedy for a long-time ill. But marrying him wasn’t a decision she was ready to make in such a short time. And with her parents recently dead, she’d lost too much to turn back with no answers. If a friend had come to her with this dilemma, she’d have counseled her to stay, to see things through. She had a week—a lot could happen in a week. “I’ll tell Rosane about you. But I can’t marry you. Not when you refuse to tell me what’s going on between you and Armand and why you think my life is in danger.”
Daniel grabbed a rag from a hook inside the cupboard door beneath the sink, then wiped the coffee spill. He plopped the wet rag into the sink. “If Armand invited you here, he has a reason. And it’s not your well-being.”
“What other reason could there be?”
Taking a sip from his mug, he leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles. “Did you know I was the guest of honor at the gala tonight?”
“No, I—”
“Armand conveniently forgot to mention the fact because it suited him to make a point.”
“But—”
“There’s no but, Christiane. Armand is the devil himself. He invited you here to continue what he started nine years ago.” He held up a hand to halt the question about to spill out of her mouth. “He found you nine years ago through me. He wanted something then. I don’t know what, only that it scared your mother and made me abandon my music scholarship. I wanted to protect you then, Christiane, and I want to protect you now. He invited me here to let me know I had no control over the outcome. I won’t let him win.” Frustration strained his face. “Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t.” Points to be made? Devils in disguise? Covert plans and schemes? Daniel was wrong. Armand had nothing to gain from her. Daniel was turning this once warm kitchen into a deep freeze of suspicion where half truths fogged the air. “What has Armand done to you to make you hate him so?”
“He treated me like a son. Then he betrayed my—me.”
“How?
