Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(36)

Shiloh didn’t move, her hand dropping to her side. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest, he must have heard it, he was that close to her. Roan hadn’t moved, his eyes tracking her every expression, reading her, wanting her. Trying to swallow, she helplessly opened her hands and whispered, “I’m afraid, Roan. . . .” There, it was out. The truth.

“I can see that,” he drawled.

There was no judgment in his tone. His voice was low, mellow, and her skin reacted, desperately wanting his touch, his callused fingers gliding and discovering her. Frowning, Shiloh forced herself to look up at him. Roan deserved her courage, not her cowardice. “You wanted to kiss me.”

“I still do.”

Her mouth went dry. Her heart amped up, thundering in her breast. “I—I’m afraid.”

“Because?”

His patience embraced her. She sensed him monitoring her, that kindness in the recesses of his gray gaze made her feel safe. It gave her the courage to go on. “Because I know you’re not the type of man who wants a one-night stand, Roan.”

“And you are?” he asked, one brow raised questionably.

Her mouth quirked. “No . . . no, I’m not built like that, either.”

“It’s just a kiss, Shiloh.”

She stared hard at him. “A kiss is never just a kiss and you know it.” She watched his mouth twitch, warmth drenching his gray eyes. “It . . . well, it’s always meant more to me than that. I can’t help it. It’s who I am.”

“You’re saying there has to be more important reasons to kiss than just to kiss?”

Roan was maddening. She glared at him, frustrated. Jamming her hands on her hips, she muttered, “Yes.”

“You play for keeps, Darlin’.”

Wincing, Shiloh tore her gaze from his. “I don’t take liking someone lightly, Roan. I—just never had it in me to just have a fling and walk away from it the next morning.”

Nodding, he murmured, “I didn’t take you for a woman who played around much.”

“Thanks. That’s a compliment.”

“Are you presently with another man?” Roan wanted to know, damn his soul. There was such powerful yearning tautly strung between them; like a living, heated connection that was screaming to be satiated.

“No . . .”

“Not the last six months, I would guess?” Because that’s when the stalker entered her life, imprisoning her. He saw angst in her face and she chewed momentarily on her lower lip. He knew that meant Shiloh was experiencing stress, and he felt bad, but they had to broach this topic. Roan had no idea what the fallout would be, one way or another. But at least he’d know if Shiloh was interested in him or not.

“Yes . . . that . . . of course.” Shiloh shook her head and walked away from him and took a few steps, turning around. “I guess you could call me commitment-phobic, Roan. I don’t enjoy saying it about myself, but that’s my track record.” Pushing her damp palms down her thighs, she added, “Maybe I’ve never fallen in love. I mean, really in love. I meet a guy, and it seems good and positive . . . And then, when things start to get serious, I get scared. I mean, I panic.” She looked at him through her lashes, feeling shame. She felt she wasn’t whole. It was a feeling; one that she’d never been able to get rid of.

“Panic over what?” Roan wondered, taking off his hat. He placed the Stetson on a wooden peg next to the door and came back, standing a few feet away from Shiloh. Whatever was going on with her was tangled. And complicated. Why would he ever think otherwise?

“I-I don’t really know.”

“You lost your father when you were young?” he probed gently, seeing her bow her head, staring down at her feet.

“Yes.” Shiloh lifted her chin, holding his kind gaze. Despite Roan’s size, his muscle, his height, she felt nothing but care emanating from him toward her. The expression in his eyes was full of caring. This was no longer about the kiss. This was about her. Them. Maybe. “Why?”

Shrugging, Roan said, “You said earlier that your mother and father had a very deep love for each other. That after he suddenly died, your mother was lost. For a year?”

Painfully remembering that time, Shiloh gave a jerky nod. “It was the worst year in my life,” she admitted softly.

“I’m no shrink,” Roan said in a deep tone, “but is it possible you were at such a young, impressionable age when you lost your dad, that when you grew up, a relationship scared you?”

“What do you mean?” Shiloh wanted to cringe and hide within herself because the eagle-like look in Roan’s eyes scored her to her soul; as if he suddenly understood everything about her flawed personality. Shiloh wanted him to think good thoughts about her, not see her as distorted, less than, or perhaps not a whole woman.

“Maybe you’re hesitant to commit to someone you love because you’re afraid you’ll lose them? Like your mother lost your father?” he asked, searching her eyes. Roan saw the impact of his observation in her expression, especially her wide, intelligent eyes. His words struck her like an RPG going off beneath her feet. Roan told himself it was always easy for a stranger to see another person’s wounds. It was never easy to see one’s own scars, however.

Rubbing her wrinkled brow, Shiloh slowly turned away, walking around the shell of the cabin, absorbing his words, what he saw in her. “God,” she muttered, halting and staring across the cabin at him, “I never saw this. I never did. . . .”