She shot to her feet. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” And bolted out the door.

SEVENTEEN

SHE GOT TO her car and yanked at the door handle before she realized she’d locked it. Which was, she told herself frantically, a stupid, knee-jerk urban habit that had no more place in this pretty rural neighborhood than she did.

The next thing she realized was that she’d run out of the house without her purse, her jacket, her keys. And that she would walk back to the hotel before she would go back inside and face the Quinns again after her rude and emotional behavior.

She whirled when she heard footsteps behind her and wasn’t sure if she was relieved or embarrassed to see Phillip coming toward her. She didn’t know what she was, what it was that was bubbling up inside her, burning and swelling her heart and her throat. She only knew she had to escape it.

“I’m sorry. I know that was rude. I really have to go.” In the rush to get out, the words bumped and tumbled over each other. “Would you mind getting my purse? I need my purse. My keys. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t spoil—”

Whatever was bubbling in her throat was rising higher, choking her. “I have to go.”

“You’re shaking.” He said it gently and reached for her, but she jerked back.

“It’s cold. I forgot my jacket.”

“It’s not that cold, Sybill. Come here.”

“No, I’m leaving. I have a headache. I—no, don’t touch me.”

Ignoring her words, he drew her firmly against him, wrapped his arms tight around her and held on. “It’s all right, baby.”

“No, it’s not.” She wanted to scream it. Was he blind? Was he stupid? “I shouldn’t have come. Your brother hates me. Seth’s afraid of me. You—your—I—”

Oh, it hurt. The pressure in her chest was agony, and it was spreading. “Let me go. I don’t belong here.”

“Yes, you do.”

He’d seen it, that connection, when she and Seth had stared at each other. Her eyes such a clear blue, his so brilliant. He’d all but heard the click.

“No one hates you. No one’s afraid of you. Let go, will you?” He pressed his mouth to her temple, would have sworn he felt the pain hissing there. “Why won’t you let go?”

“I’m not going to cause a scene. If you’d just get my purse, I’ll go.”

She was holding herself rigid as marble, but the marble was cracking, he thought, and trembling with the pressure. If she didn’t let go she would explode. So he would have to push. “He remembered you. He remembered that you cared.”

Through the hideous pressure there was a stab, and the stab pierced her heart. “I can’t stand it. I can’t bear it.” Her hands gripped his shoulders, fingers clenching and unclenching. “She took him away. She took him away. It broke my heart.”