Chapters (43)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Readers Guide
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“LJ,” she tried to say. She had to wet her lips and swallow, her throat sandpaper dry, before she could try again. “LJ.”
The yarn that settled over her back was thick and soft. It must be the blanket his mother had made and mailed to her. The way it curled around her reminded her of the cardigan the old woman had hung on her shoulders that day.
LJ tucked the blanket more securely around her, his hands never touching her skin. She turned, her limbs so heavy that even that small movement was an effort.
“Okay now?” His voice was quiet, but his eyes echoed with hurt. She lifted a hand to his face, and he flinched away.
“LJ . . .”
“Why?” he demanded. “Why’d you tell me you wanted me if you were scared?”
She let her hand drop. “I wasn’t.” She needed water if she was going to talk. Water and about three days of sleep.
“What did I do wrong, then?” His voice almost broke, and tears rose to sting at the edges of her lashes. “Too fast? Too rough?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t you.”
“It was me.”
LJ jerked to his feet, grabbing his boxer briefs and hauling them on.
“It is me, Andra.” He whipped on his jeans. “It’s me doing that to you, every f—” His jaw flexed. “Every time, it’s been me who left you cowering on the floor, and I don’t know how to be any different. I . . .” He stopped with his shirt hanging from his hands. “I don’t know how to hide how much I want you.”
“I want you, too,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on the edges of the blanket.
“No,” he said. “You don’t.”
He pulled on his shirt, staring at the floor. Her shoulders shrank, the chill in her skin creeping down into her chest.
“LJ, I told you, the attacks have nothing to do with you.” She shook her head. “They just happen and I’m sorry, but I can’t stop them. I thought you understood that.”
He crammed buttons into holes so fast that threads popped audibly. “I’m not dumb enough to think that happens to you when you’re out working the horses or shopping with Stacia.” He shrugged to straighten the shirt on his shoulders and stomped into his boots. When he looked up at her, his eyes were like two holes punched into the dirt. “It keeps happening because I scare you. Because something I do reminds you of him. I’m not going to keep doing that to you, Andra.” He headed for the door.