The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(16)

“You’re saying he wasn’t here with you?”

“If he was at my door I never heard him. I was praying.”

Quillan’s throat worked, and the volatile clouds churned in his eyes until they parted to show her a need so raw it hurt. “I can’t stand the thought of him here with you.”

“He’s not.”

“He will be.”

“Not here.” She pressed her hand over her heart. “Where it matters. It’s not Alex Makepeace I love.” She engaged his eyes, forcing him to see. She had told him once before that it wasn’t Flavio she loved. How could he not see that it was he?

“Oh, Quillan, you are a pirate. You stole not only my earthly possessions, but my heart, as well. Don’t you see? It’s you—obstinate, impossible man that you are.” She caught his face between her hands. “I love you.”

For a moment she thought he would cry, and if he did, she had no idea what she would say or do. But instead he caught her own face between his hands and kissed her, kissed her so long and hungrily she could scarcely breathe. She clutched his hair in her fingers, his wild honey mane. His arms closed around her, and she felt his passion surging through the muscles. He was her husband, and he loved her. His body told her better than his words, his lack of words.

“Now I can’t go.” His voice was hoarse and pained.

Laughing softly, she kissed his cheek and whispered, “You have to.”

His fingers dug into her back between her shoulder blades. “You always win, don’t you?”

“Do you feel like you’ve lost?”

“Lost control, lost my mind.” He kissed her again, groaning softly. “I don’t know how to love. I want to, but I don’t know how.”

“You know.” She clasped his face and drew back. “You loved Cain, and you love D.C.”

“An old man and a boy.”

“You love Mae.”

“Mae?” His brows rose abruptly.

“You helped save her life.”

“That’s not—”

“You saved mine. Three times.” She drew him back and kissed his lips softly, then circled his neck and kissed him deeply. With Quillan’s wall torn down, she couldn’t restrain what she felt for him. God had promised to be sufficient, but in his grace He had added on to that the love of this man. And now she felt Quillan’s tears on her cheek.

“Then you’ll believe me if I say it?” It was hardly more than a whisper.

“Try.” She spoke into the softness of his new mustache.

“I love you, Carina.”

“I know.”

He crushed her, but not even the pain of her bruises could make her pull away. It would be ten times more painful now to watch him walk out the door. But in some ways, less. She would not have to worry whether he would return.





Quillan tried to remember all the reasons he had to go to Fairplay. They mattered, he knew. Of course they did. He breathed the scent of Carina’s hair, her wonderful cascade of rippling silk that hung over her shoulders and onto her back. Silken threads of charcoal black, shimmering iridescent plumage, let them swallow me up, entangle and entwine, ensnare my restless feet and tether me like a hawk’s jesses, let me drown, let me drown in her tresses.

He slowly drew back, forcefully governing himself. Catching Carina’s hands together at his chest, he looked into her face. She looked like an angel, peaked brows over dark melting eyes, lips the color of dawn, darker now from his kisses. He wanted more. He wanted to kiss and hold her all through the day and into the night. He wanted to board up the windows and bolt the door.

But he had to go. If he didn’t leave early he’d never make it over the pass to Fairplay. So far the day was clear, and he should capitalize on that. He brought her fingers to his lips, held them there. “I have to go.”

She nodded.

“I want to stay.”

“I know.” She opened her fingers and held them to his cheek.

“Once this sale is finished, once you’re able to travel—”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Only God knows what happens next.” Her smile was soft and sad. She was trying not to cry. If she cried he wouldn’t go.

She stroked his cheek. “Take Sam with you.”

“No. I want him here.”

“I have people here. You need him. I need to know you’re not alone on that road. If nothing else, he’ll keep you warm.”

Quillan glanced at the dog. Sam wanted to come. It was in the flapping of his tail, the arch of his neck, his readiness to spring up from his prone position before the door. “All right. I’ll come back as soon as I can, as soon as I hear back from D.C.”

She nodded again, and he guessed her throat was as full as his.

“Don’t forget what I said.”

“How could I?”

He gave her his rogue’s smile, but only half managed it. Then he turned, whistled to Sam to follow, and left before he changed his mind.

His step was unaccountably light as he cut through the congestion to the livery. His wagon stood outside, loaded with provisions and emergency tools: ax, shovel, firewood, tarps.

Alan sat outside in the winter sunshine soaping a harness. “You’re off, then?”