We left the housekeeper staring after us, and I gave the driver the directions to the farmhouse.

Roane had been telling the truth. He really did live there and had a separate life from his parents.

Although my pride was still pricked, my trust still wounded, guilt niggled at me.

I should have stayed.

I should have listened.

Butterflies raged in my belly as the car meandered down the dirt road through the fields of sheep surrounding Roane’s coastal estate.

When the farmhouse and the agricultural buildings surrounding it came into view, my breath caught.

Then I saw him.

He and Bobby were unlatching the ramp from the truck to transport the sheep.

My heart began to pound in my chest, and despite the breezy day outside, my palms and underarms began to sweat. Even the backs of my knees sweat.

“This it?” the driver asked as he pulled to a stop at the house.

When I didn’t answer, he repeated the question.

I was too busy staring at Roane, who had frozen in place, staring back in astonishment.

“Yes . . . but can you wait? I’ll pay you to wait.”

“Sure, pet, but the meter’s running,” he warned.

I didn’t care about the meter.

My legs were like jelly as I stepped out of the cab, my hands shaking as I rounded the hood of the car.

Roane moved away from the truck and took a few wary strides toward me.

We stared at each other.

For what seemed like forever.

I felt like I hadn’t seen his handsome face in months. Those chestnut eyes . . . kind eyes. Roane might have lied about his age and the true extent of his fortune, but he’d never lied about who he was.

He’d doubted me when he struggled to tell me the truth, for fear I’d walk away.

But I’d made his doubts about me warranted by running away.

I shrugged helplessly, quite sure there wasn’t a blameless soul between us. “I’m so sorry.”

Roane blinked, momentarily surprised.

Then he was walking—no, racing—toward me.

His arms closed around me, and I found myself hauled against him as he slammed his mouth over mine in a hard, desperate kiss. It was bruising, ravaging, no finesse.

Yet it was the best kiss of my life.

My fingers dug into the muscles of his back like I was afraid at any minute he might be yanked away from me. He groaned, the sound delicious and thrilling, as his kiss slowly gentled.

Finally, he released me to press his forehead to mine. “Greer got my message to you then?”

Confused, I shook my head. “What message?”

“It took a bit of doing but I managed to track down her number. You wouldn’t answer my calls so . . . I called her yesterday. Asked her for your address in Chicago. She wouldn’t give it, but said she’d let you know I called.”