same person? But who was he angry at? The man who’d
fired the weapon that hurt him? One faction or another
in Iraq? The U.S. government for sending him? Fate?
Himself? Fiona had no idea, because he wouldn’t tell her.
She was actually starting to feel uncomfortable, as if
she should cross her arms and cover herself. She’d told
him some really personal and even embarrassing things
about herself, like the fact that she was childish enough
to be jealous because her mother was dating. But he wasn’t
at all interested in talking about his feelings in the same
way. So there she was, bare, while he hadn’t peeled off a
single article of clothing. At least, that’s what it felt like.
So maybe what they had going was just about sex
to John.
Of course, the sex was awfully good. She’d known
it would be. How could it not, when the mere sight of
him stirred her in unfamiliar ways? And this trip, it was
just exploratory, for both of them. She doubted he was
ready for anything more than, well, a fling with normalcy, anyway. She even tried to tell herself she was okay with that. The way she hurt inside when he evaded
a question or even, one night, said, “Not something I
want to talk about,” and rolled away, that was only
punctured ego, not the bruise it felt like.
What she really, truly, wasn’t prepared for was what
happened on her last night there.
They made love the moment they were alone. She
felt John’s urgency, shared it; tomorrow night, she’d be
home in her town house in Hawes Ferry, miles from
here, not knowing when she would see him again. When
they were sated, if only briefly, he rolled to take his
weight off her and gathered her close.
He nuzzled her hair. She was smiling, her eyelids
growing heavy, when he said suddenly, “Don’t leave
tomorrow. Fiona, stay with me.”
Shocked, she whispered, “What? But school starts
Wednesday…”
“I don’t mean just for another day or two.” He reared
up on one elbow so she could see his face, his eyes
searching hers. “Quit your job. Stay. Marry me.”
She gaped at him. Was he serious?
Fiona had an awful, awful feeling that he was.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JOHN COULDN’T BELIEVE it. He’d asked the woman he
loved to marry him, and the first words out of her mouth
weren’t, “Yes, oh yes!” No, they were a flat and dismayed, “You’re not serious.”
Still raised on one elbow so he could see her lying
beside him in bed, John stiffened. “Why wouldn’t I
be?”
Her eyes shied from his. “We haven’t known each
other that long.”
“We’ve spent more time together than most couples
do over six months of just dating.”
“Well, maybe.” She sounded doubtful. “But you’ve
never said…”
Relieved, he realized he’d forgotten the big words.
“That I love you? I think I fell in love by the second day
you were here back in November.”
Her eyes met his, begging, it seemed to him, and her
voice was suddenly tremulous. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He bent his head to nuzzle her cheek.
“Really. You couldn’t tell?”
Fiona sat up so fast, her shoulder whacked his nose.
“No! No, I can’t… Oh.” She noticed that he was clutch224
ing his nose and his eyes were watering. “John! I’m so
sorry. I didn’t mean…” She dragged in a deep breath.
“But…no. Love means trust. It means sharing. Making
yourself vulnerable to the other person. Have you ever
voluntarily told me one single really personal thing
about yourself?”
Goddamn. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and
prayed the blaze of pain would subside.
“Yes. I said I love you.”
“And I’m questioning whether you do.” She waited,
uncompromising. “What else?”
He sat up straight, too. “I told you how I feel about
this.” He touched his scar.
“No, you didn’t. You expressed the belief that
women found it unattractive. I trust you’re convinced
that I don’t?”
He nodded. “It’s…” He stopped, physically unable