Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(64)

He inhaled, ignoring the odd tightness in his chest at the prospect of leaving and returning to Texas. He felt a connection, an attachment to this land and people. It felt like home. Even more, there was Astrid now.

Ever since the first moment he had seen her, an angel on a muddy roadside, he felt bound to her. His father’s disappointed gaze was fading, becoming a dim memory, paling altogether when he stared into her face.

“When I do marry,” he continued, “it will be because I decide to, because I can’t imagine living my life without a particular woman…” He angled his head, studying her. “You’re a fool if you don’t already know that much about me. And you’re an even greater fool if you don’t want the same thing for yourself.”

“I’ll never marry again,” she quickly retorted, her nostrils quivering. “Once was misery enough. I’ll not give away my freedom again.”

“But you’ll readily give mine away.”

Color spotted her cheeks and her dark lashes fluttered over her eyes. She gave a tight nod, an almost imperceptible movement of acknowledgment. “I’ve never been able to dismiss duty so lightly. It mystifies me that you can. This is your family, Griffin. Your home. Petra—” She squeezed her eyes in a severe blink, as if the mere mention of the girl’s name pained her. Opening her eyes, she stared at him intently, dark eyes glowing like polished onyx. “How can you not offer her the protection of your name?”

“The pity I feel for her does not mean that I should sacrifice my future—and hers. We deserve our own choices.”

She looked at him bleakly. “You think her father will give her a choice? I’ve known men like him all my life. If not you, he will choose someone else.”

“So it might as well be me?” he snapped, his anger bubbling to the surface at her determination that he should wed Petra. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Deciding someone else’s fate based on your own sense of right and wrong. Isn’t that your great sin? The very thing you did to your sister-in-law?”

She pulled back, the color draining from her face. Clearly his words struck a nerve. “I am not—”

“Yes,” he affirmed, taking a step closer. “You are.”

Reproach flashed in the dark depths of her eyes before the cold, familiar mask fell into place, blotting out all emotion.

A tightness pervaded her chest, prickly and hot. Itchy. She lifted a hand to her throat, rubbing the skin there, as if she could rub out the awful truth of his words. She was doing it again.

Griffin’s hot gaze pinned her, probing, stripping away flesh and bone to all she hid, all she was. She swallowed, fighting the terrible thickness rising in her throat. A thickness that threatened to choke her as he stepped closer.

She shook her head as if she could shake off his words, his relentless stare. And yet she could not escape that gaze, those eyes that knew, the words that could not be refuted. Denial burned on her tongue. You’re wrong. You don’t know me. But the words would not come.

Somehow, in a short time, he was able to see to the core of her, to expose all her frailties, to take her past and fling it in her face with the accuracy of an arrow finding its target. But then that should not surprise her. They were the same, after all. Two souls punishing themselves for the sins of their past.

“Always dutiful,” he accused. “Always so damned proper. Do you never just surrender to your desires? Do what you want and say to hell with the world?”

The image of them naked, bodies locked, rocking against one another, wild and frenzied, more animal than human, flashed across her mind. A familiar hunger flared to life inside her, burning through her blood and weakening her knees. She curled her fingers around her throat to stop from reaching out. From pulling him toward her. To remind him that she had in fact followed her desires. More than once.

Blue fire lit the centers of his eyes, and she knew that he knew her thoughts, read them as clearly as a book splayed before him.

She closed her eyes, willing for strength, for the resolve to end this thing between them, to let him go. Because it was over. She could go. Leave. He wouldn’t stop her now. There was no reason he should.

Petra deserved him.

And Griffin? What did he deserve?

She opened her eyes, the answer washing over her, bitter and true.

Not me.

He made a move toward her. She stepped back as if fire lapped at her feet.

He cocked his head, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. “Astrid,” he whispered. His voice slid through her liked a warm wash of sherry.

She shook her head, her fingers tightening at her neck. Hurting. Good. Pain was good right now. It woke her up. Made her remember…

She could not have him touch her. One brush of his hand and she would crumble, succumb to her own selfish needs. Same or not, they could not have one another.

He closed the distance separating them, his expression hardening with resolve. Long fingers closed around her arms, singeing her through the fabric of her gown.

“You can push me away all you like,” he paused. “You can even encourage me to marry someone else, but you can’t run away from this.” His fingers softened, sliding up her arm.

“It’s not right,” she insisted, her voice low and desperate. “It’s not—”