Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(68)

Snorting, Shiloh said, “That’s true.” She saw him give her a know-it-all look, as if he knew her inside and out. “Okay,” she muttered defiantly, “what else?”

He slid his hand down her long, supple spine, caressing her hips. “There’s another question.”

“And is this because you’re steeped in black ops stuff? That you’re closemouthed because you had to be? You know, you aren’t black ops now. It’s okay to open your mouth and speak more than one or two sentences to me. I’m not deaf. I love to hear what you think and feel.”

Roan laughed outright, released Shiloh, stuffed a couple of pillows behind his back, and sat up. Resting against the headboard, he gathered her into his arms, hauling her across his lap, settling her comfortably against him. “I feel like I’ve opened up some floodgates,” he said, and he kissed her nose, holding her petulant gaze.

“You know,” Shiloh murmured, running her fingers through the silky dark hair across his chest, “I see us as a mismatch. One person, me, relies completely on communication. You, on the other hand, are trained in black ops to say nothing of note to anyone. We really ARE opposites, Roan.” She lifted her gaze up to his, very serious about it. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“No,” he teased, sliding his fingers across her cheek, “because you’re like a cattle prod, sticking me to make me cough up something of note.”

They both laughed.

Shiloh nuzzled her brow against his jaw, never wanting this night to end, his arms warm and strong around her. “Okay, let’s get serious now.” She felt an instant shift around Roan. It was the oddest sensation; as if she had some kind of invisible link to him. Shiloh had never felt this with another man. Her fingers stilled on his chest and she closed her eyes, languishing within his embrace, wanting nothing more.

“What do you want to get serious about?” Roan asked, his palm against her cheek.

“My parents,” she murmured, opening her eyes, staring across the silent room filled with grayish moonlight. “As I was loving you a little while ago, I wondered if this is how they felt about each other. How they felt as they made love with each other. A love so deep . . . so . . . incredibly magical and word-defying. And that’s why my mother fell apart after my dad died. That she loved him with every breath she took. That she couldn’t imagine life without him being a part of her life. Almost . . . well . . . symbiotic. They were actually one person. Maybe two halves of a whole who loved each other so completely that neither of them could ever survive without the other?”

Roan caressed her hair, his hand coming to rest on her small shoulder. “My parents have a similar love. Did I tell you that?”

“No,” she mumbled, scowling up at him. “Remember? I have to pull teeth to get anything out of you?”

“Guilty,” Roan agreed, giving her a patient smile. “I think that since we were both raised with parents who honestly loved each other, we were very, very fortunate. I don’t think a lot of marriages ever hit that pinnacle of love. At least, I haven’t seen it. People stay together for a lot of reasons and it’s not always because they love each other.”

“I didn’t know about your parents . . . that’s wonderful, Roan.” And Shiloh meant it.

“So you see?” he murmured, placing his finger beneath her chin, holding her gaze, “you don’t always lose the person you love, Darlin’. My parents are proof of that. I’m sorry you lost your parents, but maybe now you can release that fear.”

His insight was startling. Warm. Full of hope for Shiloh. She took his finger and placed a small kiss on the end of it. “You’re just full of surprises, Taggart.” She saw him give her a very pleased male smile.

“Stick around, Darlin’, there’s more to me than meets your eyes.”

“Should I be afraid?” She gave him an impish look.

“I hope not. Maybe”—he caressed the length of her arm—“look forward to every night from now on sharing my bed?”

Shiloh tangled her fingers between his. Roan had such large hands, long fingers, sun-darkened flesh compared to hers. “You’re serious?”

“I am,” he said, and he held her gaze. “That’s what I want for us, Shiloh. What do you want?”

Her lips twisted and she looked down at their joined hands. “I don’t know why I always have the same reaction to that question. I start to sense fear.”

“It’s the past, Shiloh. You need to continue to work through it and let it go. Give US a chance?” He leaned over, catching her lowered gaze. “I’m the present, Darlin’.”

Roan was right and she knew it. “The present is like a dream to me. A wonderful one. I’m trying, Roan. I really am.”

“I’m no dream, Darlin’. I’m flesh and blood. This is reality and you’re here with me.” He smiled faintly. “And you were the one who initiated it, so I think you’re more than ready to put your past to rest. Put your worries aside that anyone you might fall in love with is going to be ripped out of your life. I’m going nowhere.”

Nodding, she felt her heart swell with more hope than fear. Roan’s voice was low and vibrating with feeling for her. He was making no bones about wanting her, wanting a real relationship. Shiloh wanted the same thing. The past was so forbidding. “I think . . . I feel,” she qualified in a whisper, “that part of my hesitation is the stalker, Roan. I’m terrified that someone is out to get me. It’s probably silly and not logical, but I run on my emotions.” She looked up at him, loosening her fingers from his, caressing his stubbly jaw, holding his dark, glittering gaze. “I’m sorry I’m not whole. I don’t feel confident about the future because it scares me. I wish I knew who was doing this to me.”