With a low growl, he swoops me into his arms and storms down the corridor to my quarters. Heat radiates off his skin, coaxing me to press my nose to the place where his shoulder and neck meet. His spicy aftershave surrounds me, forming an illusion of comfort that keeps the pain moored where it can’t reach me.

“Get some sleep,” he says, unceremoniously dumping me on top of my unmade bed.

“Please, Liam.” As he steps back, I grab his hand. “Don’t go.”

“If I stay, we’ll both regret it.”

“We won’t. Please.” My tug brings him one step closer. “I want you.”

With a harsh exhale, he closes his eyes. “You didn’t want to give it to me then, and you don’t now.”

“Stop telling me what I want, or what’s good for me, or what should be done in my honor.” I scramble to my knees and pull the dress I wore to dinner over my head. “I’m not a child, Chancellor.”

His gaze lowers to my breasts, heat flaring at the sight of my erect nipples. “You’re the most exquisite woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, but you’re vulnerable and not thinking clearly. Sex isn’t going to fix this.” He pauses, letting a pain-filled beat pass. “In the morning, he’ll still be gone.”

His words shatter me with the strength of a sledgehammer, destroying the last of my sanity, and I launch a pillow at him. “Get out,” I scream, rage taking over. “Just go!”

“Novalee—”

“Get out!” Another pillow flies toward his head. “You’re right! It should have been you on that plane.”

The line of his mouth turns severe, but his eyes glisten, hinting at how my verbal assault struck the bullseye. Silently, he shuts off the light and leaves, closing the door behind him.

But the evidence of his heartbreak hangs thick in the air. Instant regret snakes around me, for as long as I live, I’ll never erase his devastated expression from my mind. There aren’t words in the dictionary to describe the amount of emotional warfare I launched at him.

Shivering in the darkness, I hug myself, naked on the bed where he left me, little more than a pile of shame. Regret compounds by the second.

“I didn’t mean it,” I whisper.

But it’s too late to take it back.

5

It’s only now, as my mind begins to clear, that I realize I’ve never seen snow before. I mean, sure, I remember seeing it on holiday cards and on the big screen, but to watch each large flake coming down in isolated sorrow?

Not until this moment.