Her hopes trembled. Her throat squeezed. “Is that a warning?” she asked with false lightness.
“An explanation, Elizabeth.” He looked at her, his eyes dark in the light of the fire. “The finfolk are fluid by nature. It is
our strength and our weakness. We are not bound by any form or by the land or by ties of family or affection. But . . .”
The water whispered and sighed. She waited, her pulse scrambling, hoping he would tell her, wishing he would ask her . . .
“Your children need me,” he said finally. “You need me.”
She did. Oh, she did.
She could live without him, had managed fine without him. But she wanted more in her life. She wanted passion. Joy.
Magic.
“I have seen Dylan with his family,” he continued heavily. “I will stay.”
He took her breath away. He was offering her everything she dreamed of, everything she wanted.
Except the words she needed most to hear.
The scrape of pots, the clatter of serving dishes, seemed a world away. She heard a soft exclamation and a thump from one
of the picnic tables, but all her attention was focused on the man beside her.
Her gaze searched his face. He didn‟t look like a man offering to share his life with the woman he loved. He looked like a
soldier charged with a difficult mission.
Or a prisoner facing a jail sentence.
She sucked in air, letting it out slowly. “Is that what you want?”
He regarded her without speaking, his hard, beautiful face unreadable. Maybe he didn‟t know how to answer. As Regina
said, this emotional stuff was all new to him.
Or maybe his silence was his answer. The thought slid into her chest like a knife.
“It‟s not that I don‟t appreciate the offer,” she said gently. “I do. I know what you are and what you have to do. I can
handle that. I wouldn‟t be the only woman to hold it together while her man was away at sea for long periods of time. As long
as I knew that you missed us. As long as I knew you wanted to be with us.”
His jaw set. “I have said I will stay.”
Love and hurt and exasperation churned inside her. “I‟m asking if you want us.”
“I want you . . . to be safe,” he said carefully. “I can make you happy.”
Her heart was breaking. He was breaking her heart.
“That‟s such a wonderful thing to say.” She swallowed hard. “Such a generous, wonderful, wrong thing to say.”
“Then tell me,” he snapped. “You want to control everything. Tell me what you want me to say.”
Love and disappointment surged, breaking her control. “I want to know if you love me!” she shouted.
Her raised voice carried across the beach. The commotion from the picnic shelter stopped. Conversations died.
“Um, Liz?” Regina stood before them, twisting her hands in her red apron. “I‟m sorry to interrupt this. But Margred needs
you. Now.”
Now. Zack‟s pulse pounded in his head. Throbbed against his fly. He squeezed his hand a half-inch farther between soft
flesh and rough denim, almost there, almost there, almost . . .
Stephanie‟s breath caught. Her stomach muscles jumped against his wrist. “Zack, no.”
He couldn‟t think. He could barely breathe. All the blood in his body had deserted his brain for his dick. “You‟re so . . .”
Warm. Soft. “Pretty, Stephanie. Let me . . .”
She wriggled. “No.”
No.
The word crashed and echoed in his empty skull. His body went rigid, all the parts of him that weren‟t stiff already.
“Please, Zack.” She lay under him on the flat granite ledge, her eyes enormous, shiny in the moonlight.
Please.
Swallowing hard, he worked his hand out of her jeans, curling his fingers against the sense of loss. Rolling off her, he flung
himself back, rapping his head hard against the rock.
Stars. Fireworks.
She gasped. Giggled. “Are you all right?”
“No. But I‟ll recover.” He dragged air into his lungs. The granite was cool against his back, the air cool against his front.